


Conveniently Found

by TheMightyChipmunk



Series: Soulmate AUs [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: F/M, Fluff, M/M, Other, Soulmate AU, Yeah another one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-06
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-01-23 20:30:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 45,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1578548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMightyChipmunk/pseuds/TheMightyChipmunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A chronicle of how all the Les Amis find their tattooed soulmates...</p>
<p>It's crazy how everyone in their little groups sort of matched up isn't it? Fate is beautiful:)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Joly and Bossuet

“Grantaire!!” Bossuet yelled, stumbling into R’s bedroom and causing him to groan and roll-over out of sleep.

“ _What_? Jesus Christ, its _midnight_!” Bossuet just nodded and took a multitude of deep breaths, “What do you want, baldy? I have a chem exam in the morning, in case you forgot.” Grantaire did like Bossuet a lot, don’t let the insults fool you; they’d been roommates at their boarding school all the two years since Bossuet had transferred in. The two of them had hit it off immediately, having the same witty sense of humor and the same love for alcohol and shit horror movies. It was moments like these, late at night, where Grantaire wished he had better friends, ones with more logical sleeping schedules.

“Yes, its midnight on _April the 24 th_ and even you aren’t so much of a _dickhead_ to forget what that means.” Grantaire sat up and rubbed his eyes, now focusing on Bossuet, who was sitting cross-legged on the edge of his bed and holding his wrists tight against his heart.

“Oh shit, you’re eighteen now, aren’t you?”

“Yeeessss,” Bossuet groaned, “And why couldn’t I have just gotten an _easy_ _one_ like every other fucking person on this planet?” Grantaire furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. At the age of eighteen, every person is magically procured with a tattoo of the first words that their soulmate would say to them. It was a pretty simple process, actually. A lot of people were resentful towards the whole process, obviously. Since it was ‘dictating who they were to spend the rest of their lives with’ and ‘what if I want to fall in love with someone else’ and ‘don’t judge me for not picking to force myself into a relationship with my soul mate’. These protestations usually changed when said people actually _meet_ their soulmates, but people still enjoy finding something to protest about. Grantaire didn’t really care about the whole stigma thing (although he occasionally saw the reasoning behind it which was still plagued by the futility of the whole thing) instead choosing to wait to deal with it until he was eighteen, which would be happening sooner than he’d like. Bossuet wasn’t the first of his friends to get their tattoo. Jehan had got his a couple months ago, but Eponine, Bahorel, and Grantaire were still waiting. Grantaire had about a week left, Bahorel two months, and Eponine five, which she wasn’t very happy about. Now, Bossuet did have terrible luck, but R couldn’t think of a way in which he could screw-up the tattoo thing. Literally all he had to do was find the tattoo and read it and wait.

“What’s confusing about it? Let me see.”

“Wait… You speak Greek right?” Bossuet questioned slowly, making Grantaire more confused.

“Um, a little? Not well, I’m better at Latin. Marius does though, if you need him to translate something for you. Why do you ask?” On other occasions he would have been able to figure it out, but it was midnight. He’d just moments ago been in the middle of his first good-night’s-sleep in months. Bossuet thrust _both_ wrists out unceremoniously and Grantaire looked down with a raised eyebrow.

“Whoa, you have two? I didn’t even know that was a thing.” Bossuet pouted and glared.

“Polyamory is a real thing, asshole. Don’t bash on me and my future lovers.” Grantaire just rolled his eyes and smiled, not saying anything more as he continued to read the scrawl. On his left was the Greek: θα πρέπει πραγματικά να είναι πιο προσεκτικοί, αγάπη, in a writing that he obviously could tell was a woman’s, even with the little he knew of the Greek language.

“Okay, so it’s late and again, I’m not that good at Greek so we should definitely go to Marius and figure out how to pronounce this and shit, but I think it says ‘you really need to be more careful, love’.”

“That sounds about right.” He mumbled bitterly and Grantaire laughed out loud.

“If it helps, it’s definitely a girl’s hand-writing.”

“Why would that help?”

“I don’t know. It could help narrow it down.”

“I think that the speaking in GREEK thing will be enough. Believe it or not I don’t talk to a lot of Greek people on a daily basis. What about the other one? That’s the one that’s worrying me.”

“Yeah, I’m not sure. That could be a boy or a girl’s handwriting.” Bossuet smacked Grantaire on the arm, probably hurting his own hand more than Grantaire.

“That’s not what I meant, shithead! Are you reading it?” He was; it said: _I’m dying._ No more, no less, just those two words in neat scrawl going horizontal and across his right wrist where the Greek had been vertical and all the way up to the crease in his left elbow.

“That could mean anything ‘Suet, don’t let your imagination get away from you.” Grantaire said to reason with him, to be somewhat reassuring, but he knew Bossuet wouldn’t listen.

“Grantaire!! One of my s _oulmates_ could be _dying_! What if I meet them as they’re bleeding out on the street, having just been in a knife-fight? Or I walk into a patient’s waiting room and they look at me and say their dying and I look at their chart and they have like leukemia or something?”

“Are you planning on becoming a doctor? Why would you have access to their chart?” Grantaire asked facetiously, but Bossuet just ignored him.

“What if I join the army and I SHOOT HIM and he dies in my arms and that’s the first and last thing he says to me.” Grantaire tried to butt in to say that was ridiculous, but apparently Bossuet was on a roll, “OR what if they’re some sort of serial killer, like in Sherlock, and they find out that they’re dying and so they just like to outlive people for the hell of it and so they sneak into my bed at night like some sort of invisible shadow and then when I notice their blade pressed to my neck,” _why are you so sure they’re a knife person, why not a gun?_ Grantaire wanted to ask, but Bossuet didn’t give him a chance too as he was speaking so rapidly, “I open my eyes and gasp out ‘why are you doing this?’ and they just whisper ‘I’m dying’ and then BAM, they kill me dead.” Bossuet’s eyes were really wide by the end of his speech and he was nodding his head like he expected Grantaire to agree, but the cynic couldn’t help but crack-up laughing.

“No,” R said simply, putting a comforting hand on Bossuet’s shoulder, “That was enviably creative, I’ll give you that. But that isn’t going to happen. I promise. There’s no use dwelling on it, man. We’ll go talk to Marius in the morning, but until then you’ve just got to relax. Go back to sleep, ‘Suet.” He agrees reluctantly and instead of going back to his own bed he goes with curling up next to Grantaire, who wouldn’t complain about it even if he wanted to, because it was finally quiet.

The next day, Bossuet practically dragged Grantaire up and out of their dorm room. Had it been anyone else or any other situation less in important, Grantaire would’ve told him to fuck off and let him sleep in a little more, but Bossuet was his best friend and loyalty and morals and all that shit. And Grantaire was the only one who really knew Marius, other than Eponine (who no one dared to wake up earlier than necessary) and so he knew where the boy would be in the morning. He usually studied in the library before classes, because he was a HUGE DORK. Seriously, Grantaire had never met a bigger nerd. He was a nice kid, cute enough, but _man_ that guy cared too much about his studies.   

“Hey, Pontmercy!” Grantaire whispered, taking the seat across from him.

“Oh, hey, R! You’re up early.” Marius said with a chuckle. He was in first period chemistry with him, so he was well aware of Grantaire’s tendency to show up twenty-thirty minutes late, “What’s up?” he asked, setting his history book down on the table.

 “Um, I have a favor to ask. Can you tell us how to pronounce this? Oh, this is Bossuet, by the way, my roommate.” Bossuet smiled and waved slightly and then thrust his wrist forward. Marius took it and squinted down at the writing.

“Yeah, I’ve seen you guys around campus together. Congratulations, and happy birthday I assume?” Bossuet nodded and smiled, but Marius was still avidly staring at the tattoo.

“Do you know how to pronounce it?” Bossuet said nervously.

“I do, actually. However, I think there is someone who could teach you better than I could. Do you guys mind coming with me?” Marius gathered up his books and stood quickly, looking at the two of them expectantly.  Bossuet looked to Grantaire like he thought this guy was crazy, but R just shrugged his shoulders and stood up. They followed Marius to a part of the campus that R barely ever visited since it was so far from their dorm. He took them into a classroom labelled “Lamarque” that had a group of about four boys sitting and talking rather loudly. Grantaire recognized Feuilly and Courfeyrac, but the other two he’d never seen before. The second they looked up at them, though, one of the one’s he didn’t know stood up dramatically and walked over to Marius. He put one hand on his shoulder and faced all three of them.

“Joly? Is something wrong?” Marius asked with a grin, staring in between Bossuet and the boy, making Grantaire suspicious. Joly nodded dramatically.

“I’m dying.” He said with literally no expression or emotion. Grantaire gasped and looked over at Bossuet who was practically beaming. _Lucky bastard_ , Grantaire thought, _he’s literally been eighteen for six hours and he has already met his damn soulmate._ And he was cute too, tall and lanky with chocolate brown eyes and long, messy brown hair. Grantaire stared at his best friend, waiting for his reaction. After a couple of seconds of Marius looking very smug and Bossuet looking very happy and everyone else looking very confused, he just started laughing. Laughing, _really loudly_.

“Why are you laughing at me?” Bossuet just kept laughing, until his eyes watered and he almost doubled over, leaving Joly looking increasingly indignant, “What? What is so funny? Combeferre, make him stop!” Bossuet waved his hands in the air and then took a moment, considering his words, as if he right now had control over what would be tattooed on Joly’s skin. 

“Okay, I can’t mess this up, give me a minute,” he seemed to be thinking a little bit more even as Joly gasped loudly, bringing a hand to his mouth like an actual damsel-in-distress, before  his face dropped and he groaned, “Oh shit, _no_! Those words sucked, lemme try again, wait a- damn it, I fucked it up! _Grantaire_!” he turned to his best friend petulantly, as if somehow he could make it better, but Grantaire just shrugged. Bossuet’s shoulders dropped, he perked up again quickly as Joly wrapped his arms tightly around his neck in a giant hug.

“I’m sorry my first words sucked.” Bossuet apologized.

“I don’t care. You’re _here_! Oh, I’m Joly, by the way, it’s nice to meet you.” He said, his voice muffled by Bossuet’s neck.

“I’m Bossuet. It’s nice to meet you too. Now, more importantly, may I ask why you’re dying? Because to be honest, it kept me up all night, that tattoo. You better have a really good reason for scaring me into thinking my soulmate is fatally ill.” Joly opened his mouth to answer, but it was Feuilly who spoke first. The three other boys had migrated to the door, to better watch the scene.

“He doesn’t. He does this a lot because the bastard is a certified hypochondriac. You’ll get used to it eventually, though, I promise.”

“Oh, hush Feuilly,” Joly breathed, pulling out of the hug and grabbing Bossuet’s wrists to compare their matching Greek tattoos, “I have inevitably, because of all the alcohol I consume,” Grantaire perked up at this, suddenly approving of his best friend’s soulmate, “contracted liver disease.” The room collectively groaned, giving Grantaire the idea that stuff like this really did happen a lot, but Bossuet just stared at Joly in concern.     

“Why do you think that? Did a doctor tell you?” Bossuet asked, worry blatant in his voice.

“No! Not yet, but look!” Joly thrust his hands out for Bossuet to inspect and he took them gingerly, examining them and then looking up at Joly in obvious confusion, “Don’t you see it? The ugly yellow discoloration? It’s _jaundice_ , Bossuet!” Bossuet smiled his widest smile and brought Joly’s knuckles to his lips gently.

“I see nothing of that sort. I think they’re beautiful.” Aaaaand cue the whole room swooning, especially Joly, who stared at Bossuet (who had way more moves than Grantaire expected, props to him) with wide eyes before kissing him hard and long just as the bell started to ring. Bossuet groaned and rested his forehead against Joly’s.

“Just my luck. I find my soulmate-”

“ _One_ of your soulmates.” Grantaire deadpanned.

“-And then I immediately have to go to Advanced French.”

“I’ll walk with you,” Joly offered sweetly, grabbing Bossuet’s hand and interlacing their fingers, “I don’t have a first period, so it isn’t a problem. I usually meet here with Enjolras to tutor him with bio, but he’ll understand- oh! Enjolras, I was just talking about you!” Grantaire turned around to see a blonde Adonis walk in the room, hair wild and cheeks red from the wind. The boy, Enjolras, opened his mouth to say something but then his eyes (the most devastating shade of blue Grantaire had ever seen) caught on his. They stared at each other for a moment, Enjolras’ perfect red lips left open in an o-shape and his eyes wide. He was frozen in spot, one hand still on the door and one gripped tightly on the strap of his messenger bag. Grantaire drank it all up, memorizing the perfect curve of his jaw and the slope of his nose and the arch of his cupid’s bow and the light sprinkling of freckles dotting his sinful cheekbones. He was perfect, like something straight out of Grantaire’s dreams. Once his gaze went down the boy’s body, he realized Enjolras was probably, more accurately, straight out of one of Grantaire’s wet dreams, because his red button up shirt and tight black skinny jeans did absolutely nothing to hide his perfect body. They stared at each other for what was probably only two or three seconds before it was over.

“Holy shit.” Grantaire muttered involuntarily and this seemed to snap Enjolras out of whatever daze he was in.

“I have to go.” The boy just squeaked out and then turned around 180 degrees and booked it out of the room without as much as a hello or goodbye.

“Um, what the hell just happened?” Courfeyrac asked from much closer to Grantaire’s ear than he had remembered the boy being, causing R to jump away from him with a start.

“Jesus, Courf, how the hell would I know? And don’t do that to people, shit.”

“Well that was definitely your fault. I’ve never seen Enjolras look at _anyone_ that way, let alone run away from something, ever. And I've known him since the seventh grade. Aren’t I right, ‘Ferre?”

“It’s true,” Combeferre said as he grabbed his backpack of the floor and got ready to leave, “Have you two... _met_ before?” Combeferre sounded like he knew something Grantaire didn't, but R just shook his head and tried to will his blush away. _He would definitely remember a face like that._

“I gotta get to class. I’ll see you later, ‘Suet.” He rushed out the door and down the hall, trying not to remember how quickly Enjolras had gotten the hell out of his sight. He felt his stomach turn upsettingly and deep down he knew that even with one look, he was already thoroughly fucked.


	2. Enjolras and Grantaire

“He literally _ran away from me Jehan!_ ” Grantaire moaned, with about… an indeterminate amount of alcohol in his body as he laid strewn about on Jehan’s quilt covered twin size bed.

“Honey,” Jehan cooed, running his fingers through R’s messy black curls, “I’m positive that there is more to this story on his side.” Grantaire just groaned again and buried his face into a very soft pillow. He went to Jehan because he needed to be sympathized with. When he needed tough love he would go to Eponine, who would provide bitterly good advice and give him the push he would need to get the fuck over it, while he would go to Bahorel if he wanted to get drunk and have fun until he forgot about his problems, and he would go to Bossuet if he wanted to curl up and watch movies and deny reality for a good long while. With Jehan, he knew he would get tea and snuggles and someone who would listen to his whining without getting annoyed. He would also compliment him endlessly because Jehan, despite having his own problems (that Grantaire was fully aware of because Jehan also came to R when he needed to cry and complain), always saw the very best in people.   

“No,” Grantaire shook his head in denial while still smushed up against the pillow, “No. He took one look at me and now he hates me. It makes sense. He’s a god. I am just a mortal. Why should Apollo be anything but disgusted with me?” Jehan huffed and tugged on Grantaire’s arm until he was sitting up straight. The poet then took his Grantaire’s face in his hands and kissed him gently on the forehead.

“That is the fucking dumbest thing you have ever said to me, R. I know Enjolras, a little, and even I know that he is so much better than judging a person solely based off their looks. And even if he wasn’t, damn it Grantaire, I know you think you’re not attractive, but you are so sexy it is ridiculous. Stop selling yourself short. You are beautiful and talented and kind and intelligent and so so so strong. Do you want me to recite sonnets about you until you believe me? Because I will.” Grantaire could already feel his eyes welling up, so he shook his head as much as he could in the confines of Jehan’s hands. He’d never been good at taking compliments, especially ones as heartfelt as what Jehan was giving him.

“I love you, Jehan. Why can’t _we_ get married?” Grantaire asked petulantly as he settled his head back in the poet’s lap.

“Because, it isn’t in the cards, love.” Grantaire hummed in reluctant agreement and then reached up to trace Jehan’s collarbone, where he had the words: _I really want to make you happy_ etched onto his skin. He knew Jehan clung to those words of late, that for the past three months that he had them, he had finally allowed himself to hope. Grantaire also knew, as Jehan had told him during some of his lower moments that he was definitely afraid of the ability for the words to be spun maliciously. It was not unheard of for soulmates to be not particularly _good_ for a person. Two people could be perfect for each other in every single way, but, _whoops_ , one is a sociopathic serial killer. There isn’t really anything anyone can do to help _that_. The serial killer one isn’t quite as common, but the terminally ill one is, and so is the abusive relationship one. The ‘soulmate tattoo’ concept is a flawed one; yes, 97% of people or close to that end up with the person matching their tattoo, but that doesn’t mean that every person doesn’t live their life in fear that they are of that unlucky 3%. And Jehan, unfortunately had never been one to attract nice boyfriends. So yes, he was afraid and it made Grantaire’s heart ache. However, whenever he looked at that loping, childish and almost illegible scrawl, he was completely certain that this man would never hurt Jehan. And if he did, then fuck it all, Grantaire was going to marry the poet himself.

“What were my first words to you again?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, even though he knew exactly what they were, he just liked hearing Jehan say it.

“‘If one more of these assholes tell me smoking kills, I swear, I’m going to show them what _really_ kills. Cigarette?’” Jehan quoted with a laugh.

“That would have been an _awesome_ tattoo.” Grantaire sighed dramatically and Jehan slapped him lightly on the arm as he laughed. Grantaire loved Jehan’s laugh; it was heartwarming and _genuine_. After a long moment of silence, in which a drunk Grantaire almost drifted off to sleep, Jehan tugged slightly on his curls.

“You could _talk_ to Enjolras, you know,” Grantaire groaned loudly in response and squeezed his eyes shut tighter, “I’m serious, R! Ask him why he’s being an ass, write down the first things you say to one another-”

“Don’t, Jehan. Don’t go there.”

“It’s only a couple more days until your tattoo comes in. Maybe-”

“Don’t,” Grantaire warned again, this time opening his eyes to stare into Jehan’s pretty grey ones, “I can’t allow myself that kind of hope, Jehan,” he opened his mouth again to protest, but Grantaire cut him off before he could start again, “No! Don’t argue with me on this one! Things like that… like _Enjolras_ , they don’t happen to people like me. It’s easier to just not get my hopes up.” Jehan didn’t look happy with that, but he’d learned to pick his battles over the years, so he just shook his head in disagreement and then laid back against the headboard. He leaned over to flick the light off and then scooted to lower and pulled the blanket up around both of them.

“I think you’re wrong.” He whispered before kissing the crown of Grantaire’s head and wishing them both to sleep.

 

###

 

The night before his birthday came about a week later, and the whole week was luckily spent away from Enjolras. Not that he didn’t find himself drawing that stupid face whenever he could, but it was pretty much the same as before in that he never saw the real life Apollo. This also meant that he saw Bossuet a little less, since the boy was always with Joly who was always with Combeferre who was always with Enjolras. Their co-dependent little group was a lot like his, and Bossuet had even suggested that they merge, but Grantaire insisted that couldn’t happen. At least, not until he got the idea of Enjolras out of his head. Which more and more was looking like that would happen right around… oh yeah, never. So, the night before his birthday was spent with Joly & Bossuet, Eponine, Bahorel, Jehan, and a huge bottle of Jose Cuervo, which next to wine was Grantaire’s favorite.

“I hope you’re not my soulmate, ‘Ponine.” Grantaire teased before taking a shot, “Because that would be the lamest tattoo ever.”

“Why?” Jehan asked, lifting his head from Bahorel’s shoulder, “What were your first words?” Eponine shrugged as she typed something into her phone.

“He sat in front of me in English, so I said ‘hey, I’m Eponine. Nice to meet you.’”

“Yeah, that would be really boring. But there can be beauty in the mundane.” Jehan shrugged. They were all secretly waiting for Ep to find her soulmate so she could get the hell over Marius, who had gotten his tattoo about four months ago; it was an elegant scrawl that said: _then make no sound_ written over his right shoulder blade. Eponine had been heart broken, but she was tough, and they all knew that even Marius Pontmercy couldn’t keep her down.

“Maybe you should take your clothes off?” Bahorel suggested, sounding one hundred percent serious even as everyone glared at him, “What? It will make it easier to find where the ink springs up!”

“You do know you feel it, right?” Bossuet added, tracing the words up Joly’s left arm.

“What?”

“Yeah, it’s like this weird tingling, almost itchy feeling.” Joly added and Grantaire shifted in his seat. He didn’t really want everyone over for this; he wanted to keep the words to himself, but he also didn’t want to insist that they left, either. So when it finally hit midnight, Grantaire held his breath, waiting for the tingling to start. For a moment he didn’t feel anything and he was very worried that he was broken somehow and would be the one person in history who didn’t have a soulmate, but seconds later he felt an itching, exactly how Joly had described it right over his left ribcage. He brought his hand up to cover it, trying to rub the increasingly strange sensation out of his skin. When it was over, he felt himself hold his breath again, his mind immediately producing images of Enjolras that were not entirely welcome.

“Well, are you gonna go look?” Joly asked after a long moment, waterfalling liquid from the bottle of tequila in a stubborn effort not to let spread or contract germs. Grantaire worried his lip between his teeth for a second before nodding resolutely and walking to the bathroom, so he could read it in privacy. Once the door was locked behind him, he tugged off his t-shirt roughly, almost ripping it and not caring at all. _BODY SHOTS_ was printed in neat cursive right across his heart.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” Bahorel was going to get a kick out of this.

###

It was another week still until Grantaire spoke to Enjolras. He hadn’t wanted to; he’d wanted to wallow in his loneliness for at least another ten years, but it seemed that wasn’t in the cards for him. He’d stumbled into the Café Musain after an essay in Classics, desperate for a rejuvenation of any kind, when he literally ran into Enjolras, knocking the textbooks he’d been carrying out of the blonde’s hands.

“Shit, sorry about that.” Grantaire muttered as he picked up the books, eyeing Enjolras’ reaction. He just blushed and bent down as well to pick up one of them.

“It’s okay," Enjolras muttered, sounding nervous, although Grantaire had _no_ idea why; he was too busy trying to avoid being cut by the sharp edges of his now shattered heart, “Listen, about the other day-”

“Don’t worry about it.” Grantaire cut him off before trying to move past him. Enjolras grabbed his arm, shifting the heavy books to rest against one hip and it was probably the cutest thing Grantaire had ever seen, but he tried not to dwell on that fact.

“Wait, no. It was rude of me and extremely childish. I really am embarrassed… it’s just, I’ve never…” Grantaire waited for him to explain, but he seemed unable to, “Do you want to sit together? I’d like to… talk.” Enjolras asked with an awkward smile. Grantaire looked at him with furrowed brows.

“Okay?” he answered, really not understanding what was going on. Did Enjolras think they were friends? Because as much as Grantaire wanted to, he’d never talked with the boy before. Why would he run away from him and then two weeks later ask him to a coffee date? Still, Enjolras practically beamed when Grantaire accepted and it was so beautiful that Grantaire contemplated the pros and cons of pulling out his phone to take a picture of that smile, so it would definitely last longer. After Grantaire had gotten his coffee, he went back to see Enjolras had gotten the two of them a small table in the corner of the Café, by the window. He eyed him warily, trying not to let his exquisite beauty blind him to reality as he weaved through the tables and people. When he got to Enjolras, who was typing furiously into his phone and seemingly mumbling something, Grantaire coughed to make his presence known. His stomach felt unsettled when he sat down in one of the chairs and Enjolras looked up, startled. He knew he had to stop liking this boy, for the sake of his future soulmate, but the more he was in just _proximity_ of him, the more he felt like a blind man who was just given sight.

“Sorry, I had to text Combeferre that I wouldn’t be coming over just yet.” Enjolras apologized and set his iPhone down next to his many books. Grantaire raised an eyebrow over the rim of his coffee cup, trying to seem aloof and unattached.

“You cancelled for me? That isn't necessary. I hope he wasn't too upset.”

“No, of course not. He’s been urging me to talk to you for weeks. Sorry I was such a coward.” Enjolras chuckled, thinking about something that Grantaire wasn’t privy to.

“Weeks?” Grantaire questioned, thinking it an odd considering it hadn’t even been two weeks.

“Yeah, ever since we met. I couldn’t really stop thinking about you. Or… talking about you. Courf said it got annoying.” Enjolras was flushed practically scarlet now and Grantaire wanted to groan and bang his head against the table. The man was _so cute it was sickening_. No one should be allowed to look that beautiful and regal and also be that adorable. It didn't make any sense.

“I wouldn’t really call that a ‘meeting’.” Grantaire mumbled bitterly and Enjolras groaned in what seemed to be regret. He nodded his head reluctantly.

“Yeah, I was drunk off my ass, and I apologize for that. I don’t usually drink that much,” Grantaire took a moment to let that sink in, “Anyway, you had your birthday recently, right-”

“Wait, _what_? Why were you drunk at 7 am on a Friday?” Grantaire asked incredulously. That wasn’t possible; even _he_ didn’t get that drunk before school.

“What?” Enjolras looked genuinely confused, shaking his head and staring at Grantaire like he was crazy, “What the fuck are you a talking about?” And _oh that was hot_. Even through all he confusion, Grantaire could plainly see that is was very hot when golden Apollo cursed. It made Grantaire want to draw those words out of him in very different situations and that was not a good thought to have in the middle of the day in the middle of a café in the middle of a conversation with someone who is not your soulmate.

“What the fuck are _you_ talking about?” Grantaire parrots back.

“Well, I _wanted_ to be talking about what your tattoo says-”

“No! About you being drunk? When have I seen you drunk?”

“At Montparnasse’s Not Valentine’s Day Party?” Enjolras replies angrily, “You hit on me at the bar and then we both got really drunk and we had sex in your car?” Grantaire stared at him, knowing he looked ridiculous, with his mouth gaping open and his eyes wide.

“What the _fuck_?” he whispered. He set his coffee cup down and put the heel of his palms against his eyes, thinking back hard on that party. He remembered going, and he remembered deciding to get rip-roaringly drunk before even stepping inside the party, but that is literally all he remembered, “ _How the fuck could I forget sex with you_? I have worse luck than Bossuet.” he murmured to himself angrily before turning to Enjolras, “You’re _sure_ it was me?” Enjolras barked out a laugh and nodded.

“I wouldn’t forget a face like yours.” He said sincerely. He then raised his cup to his lips with a smug smile, “So you forgot about me, huh?” Grantaire groaned loudly and Enjolras laughed, “That explains a few things, like why you told ‘Ferre we had never met. That stung a bit, before, I have to admit. You were inordinately drunk. I mean, you were coherent, but... Anyway, I suppose that means you would like to be reminded of our first words?” Grantaire’s head shot up from off the table and he stared at Enjolras' smirking face, his stomach fluttering pathetically.

“Enjolras… how old are you?”

“I’ll be nineteen in July, Grantaire, why do you ask?” he said with a grin that Grantaire quickly echoed. He wanted to jump and dance and cry and kiss Enjolras ten thousand times and also punch him in the face because WHY WOULD HE RUN? Seeing Enjolras happy though, left him deciding that question could wait.

“I’d love to hear our first words, Enjolras, although I have a sneaky suspicion that I already know yours, and I gotta say, I am excited to hear the story.” Enjolras just laughed, setting his cup down and then leaning forward on the table so their faces, and more importantly their lips, were much closer together.

“It is a little embarrassing. I may or may not have panicked and said the first thing I could think of.”

“ _Yeah_ , ‘body shots’?” Grantaire teased with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, yes, I have an explanation for that, I promise. And of course, it’s all Courfeyrac’s fault.”

“How is that?”

“Well, again, like I said, I was very drunk. As were you. You were like, _really fucking drunk_  by the end of the party, Jesus Christ. Anway, somewhere in the night, before I met you, Courf had told me that the perfect way to seduce someone at a party like that one was is um… body shots. So, when you walked up and said,” he paused a moment and lifted up his black Henley to reveal not only a perfectly flat stomach but also a tattoo in the exact same spot as Grantaire’s that said, “‘Dear God you’re beautiful; let me paint you’, rather loudly might I add, I sort of panicked. I mean, I’d expected for whoever was going to say that to me to be facetious, you know? But you were really sincere and I think you actually wanted to paint me and I was really drunk so I panicked and asked you if you wanted to do some body shots.” Grantaire bit his lip, trying not to laugh because Enjolras was already blushing rather furiously.

“So you just… shouted it out? No prelude? Just BAM! Let’s do some body shots?”

“Um… yes.”

“Ughhh, why can’t I remember that?” Grantaire said as he dropped his head to the table in exasperation, “That honestly sounds like the fucking cutest thing ever.”

“No, no, no, it was mortifying.”

“Did we do body shots?”

“Well yeah, that part was great. Oh my God, wait. Does yours really just say ‘body shots’? Please say the fates were kinder than that.” Grantaire just smiled (he seemed unable to stop doing that actually) and lifted his shirt as well, “Oh _shit_ , I am sorry. You’re going to be stuck with that all your life. At least mine was a compliment.” Enjolras grumbled.  

“Yeah, well I’m sure you’ll find a way to make it up to me.” Grantaire whispered as he leaned in towards _his soulmate_. Enjolras smiled and closed the gap and it was everything Grantaire wanted it to be.


	3. Combeferre and Eponine

“So are you going to come with me?” Grantaire asked as he and Eponine walked down the lunch buffet. The food at school wasn’t too horrible actually and he and Eponine had the same free period so they always ate together.

“So I can watch you and your gorgeous boyfriend make out all night?” she asked with a scoff, “No thanks, man. Also, doesn’t Marius go to these?” Grantaire nodded reluctantly as they moved to pay.

“Sometimes, but there are other people there too, and you don’t have to talk to him at all. You can talk to all of his other hot friends and catapult over your feelings for him,” Eponine just glared as they walked over to their usual table, “I’m serious, ‘Ponine. It will be good for you. And if you’re not there, who will I make my cynical comments to?” They’d already been the cause of two or three rather nasty arguments between him and Enjolras, so he knew it was probably best to keep them to himself. And if Eponine wasn’t there, he’d be much more likely to accidently say them out loud, to the whole group of Enjolras’ friends. That would be a sure ticket to make his new boyfriend hate him (even if everyone repeatedly assured him that would never happen).

“ _Fine_ , I’ll go. But if it’s boring or offensive or whatever I’m getting the fuck out of there and you will owe me a new bottle of scotch and a box of strawberry Pop Tarts.” She waved her fork threatening as she said this and Grantaire smiled.

“Thank you, Eponine, you are the best,” he kissed her cheek sloppily and she groaned and rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless, “Joly and Bossuet will, of course, be there, and I think Bahorel said maybe so that probably means no.”

“No Jehan?”

“Nah, he’s had a tough week, so he just wanted to stay home.” Eponine nodded her head sympathetically. They were all well aware of Jehan’s mood swings. Grantaire and ‘Ponine knew it was medical, Manic Depression, and he was medicated for it, but it wasn’t always enough and on weeks like these, there was only so much the two of them could do. More accurately, there was only so much Jehan was willing to let them do. 

“Isn’t he visiting home next week?”

“Yeah, for his dad’s birthday. That should be good for him. His family is pretty great.” Grantaire had gone home with him for Thanksgiving a couple years back, and he remembered being suffocated with love and domesticity from the minute he walked into the little one-story house. The best part was how happy Jehan looked, surrounded by his tiny little dad and his sweet-as-pie mother (who he looked almost _exactly_ like). He had seemed more at ease than Grantaire had ever seen him at school, and it was beautiful to see. The visit was a stark contrast to his familial gatherings, which tended to involve a lot more alcohol and a lot more screaming about each other’s flaws and failures.

“That’s what I’ve heard,” Eponine said through a mouthful of lasagna, “At least that makes one of us.” Grantaire just nodded in agreement, not wanting to talk any more about both of their fucked-up home lives. He knew Eponine was probably the only person who had one to rival his, although he knew Bahorel had lost his mother when he was nine and he was still pretty torn up about it, and Bossuet’s parents were nice enough, but both his mom and dad were in the army, so they’d moved around a lot before Bossuet finally decided he wanted stability and enrolled in the boarding school.

“So what time is the meeting tonight?”

“I think it starts at seven. I’m not sure when it ends though.”

“Okay,” Eponine said as she grabbed her phone out of her bag, checking a message, “I’ve got to drop Gavroche off at his friend’s house at six thirty, but I’ll try to get back in time. Where is it again?”

“It’s at the Café Musain, not too far from here. I’ll text you walking directions from your flat. You probably don’t want to have to fight for parking there.” Eponine nodded and Grantaire knew from the way she was kneading her bottom lip with her teeth and tapping her foot she was nervous.

“Hey, you don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to pressure you in to anything.” Grantaire added softly, putting one of his hands over Eponine’s. She took a deep breath and smiled.

“No, don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine. I can handle being in the same room as him for a night, no big deal.” Grantaire sincerely hoped she was telling the truth.

###

Eponine ran up the stairs to her apartment, taking two at a time as she mentally catalogued all her clothes, trying to decide what would be best to wear. She would’ve asked Grantaire earlier, but he wouldn’t have known. The extent of his wardrobe was flannels and hoodies and jeans and band t-shirts, all with tears and paint splatters. Oh, and a couple button-ups, for special occasions. He wasn’t exactly the picture of fashion. It also probably would’ve been a dead-giveaway to the fact that she wanted to impress Marius. That she was a twisted, masochistic idiot who still pined over that freckled dork (that freckled dork who was sweet and intelligent and who bought her coffee and could sing like an angel).

It had gotten better, ever since Marius got that tattoo, don’t get her wrong. She was slowly but surely coming to terms with the fact that she would never be more to Marius Pontmercy than a dear friend, and sometimes that was enough for her. And other times she was stricken with the most devastating sense of sadness and loneliness when she thought about his kind smile and bright eyes. It was hard, but every day she was more and more certain that she would get over him. _A little bit longer and I’ll be fine_. Beautiful words from Nick Jonas that she quoted to herself every day. And she had her friends to help. Grantaire and Jehan were always good for heart-to-heart talks. Despite his insistence that he didn't care about anything, Grantaire was actually one of the most emphatic and empathetic people she had ever met (he just often tried very hard to smother those aspects of himself). And Bahorel and Bossuet were always good for a laugh, even if they weren’t always trying to be. She loved her friends and they loved her and she knew in her heart that was all that mattered. From now on, whoever her ‘soulmate’ was, he or she would have to be friends with her first. That’s probably where she went wrong with Marius. She’d sort of forgotten he was _human_ and that he needed to see her as one as well. So that wouldn’t happen again, _no siree_. Stating tonight, she was going to be better.

She ended up choosing an outfit that made it look like she wasn’t trying too hard, but still looked damn good; a loose green tank top and skin-tight dark purple skinny jeans paired with worn black combat boots and a black leather jacket. She tugged her hair out of the messy bun she’d had it in before, re-applied her eyeliner and decided that was about as good as it was going to get (not that she looked bad; actually she was pretty sure she looked great). Grabbing her phone, she opened up the text from Grantaire from earlier and set out on her way to try and find the Musain. Grantaire had said it wasn’t far, but fifteen minutes later and she still couldn’t find the café. She growled angrily to no one and turned around in a circle a couple of times.

“I really thought I knew my way around this city.” She grumbled to herself, looking up at the street signs, “This really can’t be right.” She practically yelled at her phone, distracting herself so that she didn’t realize she was walking in to someone until she had banged her head against his shoulder.

###

Combeferre had been just about to round the corner to get to the Musain, already a couple of minutes late, when he heard the words, the ones that he’d seen scrawled across the center of his back, right between his shoulder blades, for almost eleven months. He gasped when he saw her, a tiny thing really, _at least_ six inches shorter than his 6’2”. She was standing in the middle of the sidewalk, glaring at her phone with a look that Combeferre would fear if it was directed at him. Truthfully he was very embarrassed of how he reacted, or more accurately didn’t react. He heard her say the words and then just froze, right in the direct path of her trajectory. _Could it really be her? Could he really be that lucky?_ They are pretty common words that people say. It was possible he would hear them multiple times in his life and this was just one of them, she was just another girl… but that didn’t feel right. _She_ felt right.

“Whoa.” She murmured, stumbling backwards.

“Oh, are you hurt? Are you alright?” he asked suddenly, bringing up his hands to her shoulders to steady her.

“Oh, yeah I’m fine,” she huffed, shaking him off of her not unkindly, “I’m just a little lost, sorry.” She moved to brush past him, but Combeferre stopped her with a gentle hand on her shoulder, hoping he didn’t seem too stalker-ish. He tried not to be too upset that she hadn’t said anything about his words. It was possible she didn’t have them yet, logic told him.

“Wait, where are you going? Can I help?” he smiled at her as she looked up at him skeptically, but she eventually shrugged and smiled back a little.

“I’m looking for the Café Musain. I’m supposed to meet my friend Grantaire there, hopefully sometime tonight.” Combeferre beamed, remembering Grantaire mention bringing a friend tonight.

“Oh! You must be Eponine! Grantaire said something about inviting a friend. I’m actually headed to the Musain as well, so I can walk you there.” Eponine looked visibly relieved and only slightly suspicious, which was a good sign, as she pocketed her phone.

“Thank you…” she paused, waiting for him to introduce himself.

“Combeferre. I’m Combeferre, it’s nice to meet you.” He offered, knowing he probably sounded a little bit flustered, but for him a little bit flustered was most people’s cool, so he figured (hoped at least) that she didn’t notice too much.

“Nice to meet you, too. So you’re a part of the ‘Les Amis de l’ABC’ as well?” she asked conversationally. Combeferre nodded as he steered them in the right direction. He tried to discreetly watch her out of the corner of his eye as she observed her surroundings, seemingly memorizing the twists and turns they had to take to get to the Café.

“Yeah, Enjolras, Courfeyrac, and I started the group. We’ve been friends for a while.”

“Oh, I know Courfeyrac. He was in my art history class a couple years back. He’s really funny- FUCK!” she exclaimed, cutting off mid-sentence when the wind blew, bringing one hand to her eye.

“Whoa, what is it?” Combeferre asked in concern, bringing one hand to rest on her shoulder and bending at the knees slightly.

“Shit, I think one of my contacts ripped.” She blinked a couple times and then winced again, squeezing the eye shut once more. Combeferre smiled and tried not to laugh as she bounced up and down on the balls of her feet and rubbed at her eyes before attempting to take the contact out. He pulled around his backpack and began searching through some of the pockets.

“You far-sighted or near-sighted?” he asked as he grabbed his spare glasses case.

“Near-sighted.” She whined as she finally got the ripped contact out and sighed happily before setting to take out the other.

“Take these then. They won’t be your exact prescription, but they’ll help. They’re my spare, so I won’t need them tonight.” He said as he slipped the glasses on her face before she could protest.

“Thank you.” She said, bringing a hand up to his to help him guide the glasses into the right spot. Their fingers touched and for a long moment they just stared at each other, faces close and eyes locked. Combeferre didn’t move as he asked, “So you can see and everything?” 

“Yeah, yeah they’re almost perfect. You’re about as blind as I am, I’m impressed.” She said with a wide smile as Combeferre shifted his eyes down to Eponine’s hand still on his. This made him step back, breaking the moment, but he pulled her hand with him.

“What’s this?” he asked, tracing the white lines that were drawn on her right wrist, starting at the top and then extending down to about half of her forearm.

“Oh, it’s an orchid. They’re my favorite.” Combeferre smiled at the design; he’d always loved white tattoos and it looked particularly lovely extending down Eponine’s dark olive skin.

“It’s beautiful. But what are you going to do if your soulmate tattoo comes in there?” he teased as he reluctantly dropped her hand and started walking again. She laughed softly and shook her head.

“I’ll be fucking pissed. That hurt like hell.” Combeferre laughed and shook his head softly, happy for the possibility that she could still be the one. The thought made his stomach flutter again, made him feel more flustered.   

“How did you even get one? Don’t you have to be eighteen?”

“Eighteen or have parent permission. And my parents happened to own a tattoo parlor at the time.” Eponine said with a shrug.

“Oh, they’re artists, then?” Combeferre tried to seem innocently interested as he attempted to better know his soulmate. His possible soulmate. He kept repeating that in his head, weighing his odds and waiting for it to freak him out. Because that seemed like the logical thing to do. That’s sure as hell what Enjolras did, who had moaned and groaned about fucking it up with Grantaire for what felt like a year or ten. He was pretty sure he should be freaking out, expected himself to start any second now, but all he felt when he looked down at Eponine was an overwhelming sense of fondness. He couldn’t call it love; for god’s sake, he had just met that girl, but she was amazing. It didn’t take long to see that Eponine was special, with her wicked grin and her fiery eyes and her surprisingly gentle laugh. He really lucked out.

“Oh, _God no_!” Eponine protested with a laugh, “If they’re artists I’m Paula Dean, Jesus Christ. They’re the farthest thing from creatively inclined ever in the history of anyone. They just sort of owned a thousand shops, all in various trades and all of various legitimacy. The tattoo parlor was actually one of their better run places. It still got shut down, in the end, but it lasted a lot longer than usual.” She didn’t sound angry exactly, talking about her parents, but she definitely didn’t seem to refer to them with _love_ , so despite wanting to know _every little detail_ (in a totally not creepy kind of way…), he figured it would be smart to not push too much.

“Well, it’s beautiful.” Combeferre said. He knew he was slowing his gait slightly, partially subconsciously, as they neared the Musain. Usually he spurned the notion, but now he was allowing himself to be entirely selfish, trying to spend every moment with Eponine that he possibly could.

“Thanks,” she breathed, not meeting his eyes but staring ahead with a smile, “So, Combeferre, what are your plans for the future? Graduation comes soon, so I’m sure you’re the kind to set out plans and stuff.” She said it fondly, but somehow Combeferre could hear the edge in her voice, an edge which he wanted to understand and soothe, but again. Boundaries. Because whether he liked it or not he did just meet her less than ten minutes prior.

“Oh, well, actually I’m already graduated,” Combeferre said bashfully and Eponine turned to him with a raised eyebrow, “See, there’s this program I’m involved in that sends people to third-world countries, Ethiopia this year, to help with basic medical care and I’ve been wanting to do it for as long as I can remember. They said they would prefer that I wait until I graduate, but they leave in end of May, so I worked out with my counselor how I could get the credits to graduate early without losing any favor with colleges.” Eponine just stared at him a moment before breaking into a genuine grin.

“That’s amazing Combeferre. Wow, that’s really… wow.”

“Yeah, it’s an amazing opportunity. I’d never dared to imagine I would be able to help so many people in need the way this will allow me to.” He’d been dreaming of it for years; it was exactly the kind of thing he wanted to do with his medical career. Enjolras had practically cried when he found out, he was so happy for him and how many people he would be able to help.

“Shit, I didn’t know people like you really existed,” Eponine mumbled, dragging a hand through her hair and not noticing the slight blush that her words brought to Combeferre’s face, “How long will you be gone?” she asked and Combeferre didn’t dare to hope, but she almost sounded… disappointed?

“A little more than three months.”

“And when do you leave?”

“A couple days.” He whispered, the time suddenly felt like a lot less time than it had yesterday. Eponine bit her lip and nodded, staring at her feet. She opened her mouth to say something and Combeferre waited with baited breath, unabashedly staring now, but she closed her mouth again and shook her head with a seemingly bitter smile, making his stomach drop slightly.

“So you wanna be a doctor, huh?” she asked instead, looking straight at Combeferre and making him blush despite doing nothing but _looking_ at him. Damn, he was so fucked.

“Pediatrician.” He corrected as they approached the front steps of the Musain, which Combeferre eyed with annoyance; he could’ve walked with Eponine all night, “I love kids.” He added as he opened the door for her to walk through. She looked about to say something else, but they were instantly regaled by the noise of the café, people shouting out their excitement at the new editions to the meeting. Eponine looked a little caught off guard by the number of students there, so he gently put his hand on her lower back to steer her to the back room where they held their meetings. She only tensed slightly and didn’t push him away and he took those both as very good signs.

“Sorry if it’s a little much.” He said, leaning down to talk into her ear, which, if he was seeing right and not hallucinating or seeing weird things because of the dim lighting, made her flush slightly. She just shook her head and looked up at him with a smile.

“I thought this place was a café?” Eponine asked once they were walking through the door at the back, finally away from most of the noise and people, which meant they could talk once again but also meant that Combeferre had to take his hand off of Eponine.

“Yeah, they call it that. You can by coffee and whatnot whenever, but at night it doubles as bar.”

“Interesting.” Eponine said with a grin right before someone screamed her name.

“’Ponine!” Grantaire yelled from his seat in the back, where he was sitting with Enjolras, “You made it!” he and Enjolras both smiled at them and Combeferre felt a wave of happiness seeing his best friend content. He knew Enjolras and Grantaire argued a lot and were practically polar opposites, but in the end Combeferre knew they were exactly what the other needed. Two sides of the same coin, he was sure.

“Yeah, no thanks to you and your shitty directions,” Eponine snapped, still managing to sound fond as she swiped Grantaire’s coffee and took a big gulp of it. He just made a face at her and she rolled her eyes before turning back to Combeferre, “Luckily, I had Combeferre to come and save me.” He wished he had more control of the blushing thing. It was really cruel that it was involuntary and he did have a reputation to upkeep here.  

“He is the best.” Enjolras said with a smile, causing Grantaire to huff petulantly, “Oh hush, R. if it helps, he isn’t quite as good in bed as you are.” Enjolras added with a smirk, making Eponine burst out laughing and even Combeferre had to crack a grin at Grantaire’s startled expression.

“What?” Grantaire spluttered, sounding shell-shocked. Enjolras just kissed his cheek and stood up, leaning down to stage-whisper in his ear, “What happens in summer camp, stays in summer camp,” before moving to the front of the room to start the meeting.

###

“I like him.” Eponine whispered once Combeferre and Enjolras had walked to the front of the room to get things started.

“Who?” Grantaire asked with a raised eyebrow, “Enjolras? Or Combeferre?” he teased. Eponine just rolled her eyes and grinned as she considered the question.

“Both.” Grantaire smiled suggestively and Eponine shoved him lightly in response, “Fuck you. But seriously, Enjolras. He’s not as bad as I thought he would be.” She said with a nod to the front of the room, where Enjolras was beginning to talk.

“Yeah, he’s pretty great. Did you know he has-”

“Grantaire!” Enjolras snapped, cutting Grantaire off mid-compliment, “We’re trying to conduct a meeting here. Please be quiet.” He said it with sass that made Eponine almost bark out a laugh, but he didn’t seem too angry. In fact, when Grantaire dramatically mouthed back _Sorry, Apollo_ , Enjolras almost looked fond as he shook his head and turned back to the other students present. Eponine and Grantaire kept relatively quiet for most of the meeting, occasionally leaning close to each other to whisper cynical remarks or witty jokes, but other than that being pretty respectful.

“Combeferre’s pretty great, too.” Grantaire whispered with a smirk while Enjolras ranted about some sort of injustice in the dorm rooms. She wasn’t really listening anymore, too caught up in the way Combeferre was twirling his pen in his fingers in that way that all boys seemed to know how to twirl the pen. Somehow though, Combeferre made it look sexy. How does someone make that look sexy? He just had really nice hands…

“Yeah, he is. Did you know he’s going on a three month long mission to save underprivileged children in third world countries from disease?” Eponine whispered.

“Asshole.” Grantaire breathed, making Eponine chuckle.

“I know. Who gave him the right to be so fucking perfect?” Grantaire looked at Eponine with that trademark raised eyebrow that made her simultaneously feel self-conscious and also want to punch him in his stupid handsome face.

“I like your glasses by the way. Are they new?”

 “Oh shut up.” She growled, slouching in her seat and going back to staring at Combeferre with bitter acceptance that she was officially a creep.

“Sorry I’m late!” Marius said suddenly, bursting through the door and knocking Eponine out of her Combeferre-related reverie. She tried to stare at Enjolras’ glare instead of the red-headed idiot who just swept into the room, “I got a little lost.” _Oh of course you did you stupid fucking puppy._ Eponine thought as she rolled her eyes. Grantaire’s foot nudged hers under the table and he smiled at her softly. That was when she realized something. She turned around quickly, looking at Marius in surprise.

“Fuck.” She muttered and Grantaire looked at her with wide eyes. She took a minute to catalogue her feelings as her mind recognized Marius Pontmercy, with his dopey grin and his bright hazel eyes. She waited to register that aching feeling, that one that always spread through her body whenever Marius was near, that one that came with knowing he would never love her. It didn’t come. “I don’t love him.” She huffed out a laugh and ran a hand over her face in disbelief. She turned back to Grantaire with a grin and whispered it again, “I don’t love him.” Grantaire smiled even though he still looked confused.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that when _he_ said he got lost, all _I_ felt was slight fondness and excessive annoyance. You know what that means? I didn’t feel an overwhelming rush of heartache and longing. I didn’t run a hand through my hair and think about how my make-up looked and then scold myself for thinking looks are all that matter to him. I didn’t begin my spiral down into wallowing and bitter acceptance when he didn’t notice me. Grantaire... I'm not in love with him anymore.” She said the last part really slowly, letting the words sink in for both of them. She wanted to stand up and scream it out to the whole goddamn world because she felt like a weight had been lifted from her shoulders and she was probably a little ecstatic.

“Hey ‘Ponine!” Marius greeted, “What’s going on?” he looked between Grantaire and Eponine, frowning at her hands which she had balled up in R’s t-shirt.

“Nothing.” Eponine said serenely, removing her hands and smoothing down the wrinkles in Grantaire’s shirt that she had created, “Nothing at all, Marius, how are you?” They made small talk for a couple minutes (small talk. _Small talk._ Amazing), the whole time Eponine wore a huge grin on her face, reveling in the fact that she somehow managed to _get over this asshole_ while still managing to _be friends with this asshole_. Because she still loved Marius. She would always love Marius, ever since he handed her a purple crayon in kindergarten and told her they should be friends. She just was no longer _in love_ with Marius. And that felt amazing.

###

Combeferre didn’t see Eponine until the day he was supposed to leave. If he’d left it up to the universe, he wouldn’t have seen her at all before he left. But, since he was never one to sit idly by and let the universe make him its bitch, he decided to do something about it. There was no way in hell he was going to go three months away from his soulmate when he had only seen her once. No. This was already going to be hard enough. So, he texted Grantaire and asked him where he could find her (yes he had embraced the fact that he was really creepy) and say goodbye. He had told him she would be back at her apartment at about five from picking up Gavroche and he had to leave at about six-thirty to be at his train on time and so he was just waiting outside of her building, bouncing on the balls of his feet awkwardly as he waited for Eponine to return. She came walking up at about 5:10, staring at Combeferre as if trying to decide if he was actually there or not.

“Combeferre? What are you doing here?”

“Um, I came to say goodbye?” he said, rubbing the back of his neck and trying to think of what he could say to make this less awkward, “I leave tonight.”

“Oh,” Eponine whispered, biting her lip the same way she had outside of the Musain, “That’s too bad.” She said with a smile.

“Yeah… well I also wanted to ask if you were busy on September 12th?” Eponine smiled at him, genuinely amused and shook her head.

“What?” she asked with a laugh.

“I get back on the 11th and I figured asking to see you then would be a little too creepy and forward of me, so the 12th? If that doesn’t work I can try to wait until the 13th, but I don’t know if I’ll make it. You’re pretty great.” Eponine was still smiling, so Combeferre figured he hadn’t scared her away just yet. Good sign.

“Well, it’s my birthday on the 12th, so the 13th works perfectly, actually.” Eponine said with a laugh and Combeferre felt his breath catch. He took a moment to thank God for the years of practice that he had staying cool in moments like this.

“Oh, your birthday. Oh. Yeah, the 13th then. That sounds great.” Inside he was freaking the fuck out; if they had a date on the thirteenth that means she would know. She would know if they were soulmates and he would know whether or not she wanted him or not. He would be lying if he hadn’t spent hours and hours of the months after he got is tattoo wondering and dreading whether or not he wasn’t going to be good enough for his soulmate. _This can’t be right._ He knew it was irrational, and that was part of the reason he never divulged to Enjolras or Courfeyrac what his tattoo said. He was afraid they would pity him and that was the last thing in the world he wanted. Now though, Eponine was here. He was here and she was here and oh shit. She was gonna be mad at him, wasn’t she?

“Combeferre?” Eponine said cautiously because apparently Combeferre had gone off on this internal monologue in real life and had just been staring and smiling for the past couple minutes, because he was an idiot.

“Sorry, I … sorry. Got lost in my thoughts.” He said with a genuine smile, “Anyway, I really did just come to say goodbye. I have to be at my train at six-thirty so… I really should go.” He grimaced slightly and gestured towards the parking lot. Before he could step away, Eponine grabbed his hand and pulled him in to a tight hug.

“Be safe,” she muttered, partially muffled by his shoulder (she had to step up on her tiptoes to be able to rest her head on his shoulder and it was the most endearing thing he had ever seen), “And don’t forget about me.” She whispered the last part before lightly kissing him on the lips.

“How could I ever?” he whispered back before walking over to his car reluctantly, trying to will away the prick of tears that he felt in his eyes. One thing most people don’t know about Combeferre is that he is sort of a huge crier. Not around other people, obviously. Well, with new people he would never ever cry. But around Enjolras? Good God, he’d probably cried in front of Enjolras ten thousand times. A nice birthday card? He cried. Watching a Disney movie? He cried. Saying goodbye to his mom on the phone? He cried. He didn’t think now was the right time in the relationship to show Eponine that particular aspect of himself, however. So he drove away, smiling at her in the rearview mirror and feeling as if he was going to be sick.

###

“Tomorrow, Grantaire. Tomorrow. He comes back _tomorrow!_ ” Eponine said frantically as she stirred the spaghetti sauce on her stove. She knew it didn’t need to be stirred. It was Prego for God’s sake, it didn’t need anything but to sit in a fucking pot, but she was panicking. Like super panicking because she really wanted to see Combeferre. Tomorrow hopefully.

“Don’t you guys have a date on the thirteenth?” Grantaire asked as he sketched a rough picture of Gavroche who was sitting on the couch playing some stupid video game.

“Yes, but that isn’t soon enough.” Eponine groaned, sounding disturbingly like Grantaire had a few months ago when he was complaining about Enjolras.

“Then call him.” Grantaire said like it was the simplest thing in the world, pulling his phone out of his pocket and handing it to Eponine. She knew he had his number. She could just call, leave a message for him to listen to when his plane landed. He was probably on the plane now. Enjolras had said his plane got in at about seven in the morning, so he was probably on the plane like right now. Right now. Like right now, right now. Fuck.

“Holy shit, why am I freaking out like this, R? I literally talked to him twice!” Eponine snapped, setting the spoon down with a clank as she stared at the phone.

“Maybe he’s your soulmate,” Grantaire said with a shrug, still not taking his eyes off his sketch. Eponine’s mouth dropped open in a way that would be comical if anyone was looking at her, “Oh come on, don’t pretend like you haven’t considered the possibility. Man, but how crazy would that be? Three of us finding our soulmates in the Les Amis? Hmm, weird.” She had, often in the past couple of months though about that very coincidental possibility, but hearing someone else say it made it sound a lot more real, like an actual legitimate possibility. And that made her stomach sort of flutter because _Jesus_ , how lucky would she be to get a soulmate like Combeferre? He was literally… perfect.

“Don’t say that, R.” she whispered, “I really shouldn’t be getting my hopes up.” Grantaire looked up at her then, his expression darkened.

“What is that supposed to mean, Ep?”

“It means, that Combeferre is amazing and sweet and caring and ridiculously attractive and there is no way I will ever be good enough for him, whether I am his soulmate or not. Which I probably am not,” she was aware her voice was shaking and she was rambling, probably sounding crazy, but she couldn’t stop, “Because he’s nineteen, right? He already has his tattoo, has had it for over a year, so if it was me he would have told me, right? That only makes sense. Why wouldn’t he have told me? So, I really shouldn’t be getting my hopes up.”

“Eponine,” Grantaire murmured as he came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist comfortingly and resting his chin on the top of her head; Eponine dropped the spoon again and leaned back into the embrace, feeling tears prick behind her eyes, “Shut up, gorgeous. I don’t like people talking about my best friend like that. Let me tell you something: Combeferre would be so fucking lucky to have you to love him.” Eponine started to speak but Grantaire shook his head and pulled her around in his arms, “No. Hush, I’m talking. I listened to you bitch and now I’m going to set you right. Because you are so goddamn amazing, Eponine. I think that every day when I groan about waking up for now college classes and whatnot and then I think about you. I think, ‘shut the fuck up, R, because Eponine does so much more than you and is so much stronger’. You are literally raising your little brother, ‘Ponine, all the while taking classes to get your credentials, working a job at the school, all the fucking while being there for your friends and handling the shit with your parents. You’re dedicated and brilliant and anyone who tells me otherwise will be punched in the face, multiple times. You know why?”

“Why?”

“Because I know about twenty people who would punch them in the face as well, because whether or not you have Combeferre, you have me and Jehan and Bahorel and Bossuet and Joly and so many other people who love the hell out of you, Eponine. You know that, right?”

“I do.” Eponine said quietly.

“Also, Combeferre is literally the definition of a gentleman. Maybe he didn’t tell you because he wanted to wait until you got your tattoo, so you wouldn’t think he was just some creep trying to get in your pants. Or maybe he isn’t sure it’s you. What were your first words to him?”

“I’m not sure.” She said truthfully, thinking back on that day. She remembered yelling something at her phone, so he could of heard that, or it could have been when she had bumped in to him, if ‘whoa’ counts… she wasn’t sure.

“Well, then you don’t know that he would’ve told you. So stop with the worrying.” Grantaire said with a shrug. Eponine stood up on her tiptoes to kiss Grantaire on the cheek and whisper a thank you. He always knew just what to say to her, even if she wasn’t one hundred percent reassured.

“Now sit down, asshole and call Gav in here. Dinner is almost ready.”

###

She called him that morning. Nine o’clock, the day before her birthday, the first day he was back, Eponine grabbed Grantaire’s phone off the counter angrily and called him.

“Hello?” All of Eponine’s anger vanished when she heard his voice and she wanted to groan at her stupid happiness. It was too cliché.

“Hey, Combeferre. It’s Eponine?” How awkward would it be if he’d forgotten all about her?

“Eponine!” _Oh thank God, he sounds genuinely excited_ , “It’s so good to hear from you! Happy almost birthday, by the way!”

“Thank you! Hey, I’m having a party thing, get together at my place tomorrow to celebrate it if you wanted to come?” she took a deep breath and said, “I’d really love it if you came.” She didn’t let her think about how creepy she was probably being because fuck it all.

“Oh, shit. I actually said I would take an extra shift at the library tomorrow night, so that I could have the night off for our date…” he sounded like he genuinely regretted it and Eponine was disappointed too, but she was more caught up on the fact that he had said date. They had a date. She was going on a date with Combeferre. She was so fucked.

“That’s okay.” She conceded breathlessly, trying to contain her grin, “You’re working so soon after you got back?”

“Yeah, well it’s not really a hard job,” he said with a chuckle, “And I need the money since I’ve been gone so long. Damn, Eponine, I’m really sorry! It’s your birthday! I want to be there.” Eponine’s grin was going to break off of her face if he kept doing this to her.

“Don’t worry about it, ‘Ferre. You can make it up to me at dinner. Buy me some extra dessert.” Combeferre laughed loudly and promised he would. And then they talked. And they talked and they talked and they talked, about his trip, about what Eponine had been up to with the daycare she was working part-time at, about Gavroche and about Combeferre almost dying on the plane ride back. They seemed as if they would never run out of things to talk about and Eponine had never felt so comfortable conversing with someone.

“Oh shit,” Eponine said when she glanced at the clock, reading 1:34, “I have to go pick up Gav! Shit, Combeferre, we talked for _hours_. Literally, hours!” she said with a laugh. She hadn’t even known that was possible.

“Sorry.” Combeferre didn’t sound like he meant it as he chuckled along with her, “So the thirteenth?” he asked as Eponine grabbed her keys while simultaneously trying to slip her shoes on.

“Yeah. I can’t wait, ‘Ferre.”

###

“So are you nervous?” Grantaire asked, flopping down on the couch next to her. Enjolras, who was slightly over tipsy, sat on the carpet in front of them, laying his head on Grantaire’s knee.

“No, of course not.” Eponine responded, even though she knew she was biting her lip, her dead giveaway tell for when she was nervous. She couldn’t make it stop.

“Why would you be nervous?” Enjolras asked slowly, his voice a little slurred. He looked like he was about to fall asleep on Grantaire’s knee. R stared at him fondly, running his fingers through those blonde curls.

“She wants it to be Combeferre.”

“Grantaire!” Eponine yelled, hitting him multiple times in the chest.

“Oh please, he’s hammered!” Grantaire argued, “He probably won’t remember this!”

“Yeah he’s right. And, you know, Combeferre won’t tell me what his tattoo says. I think it’s on his back, though. If that helps.” Enjolras said as he yawned and Eponine turned to glare at him.

Eponine groaned loudly and buried her head in Grantaire’s hoodie.

“Noooo! _Grantaire_! He already _knows_ his tattoo! If it was me he would’ve told me that first night!” she knew she sounded petulant and ridiculous but she was a little drunk and now she was more than a little sad.

“Ep, we went over this, that isn’t necessarily-” he was cut off by the obnoxious beeping of Eponine’s alarm, which she set to go off at midnight in case they were all too distracted to pay attention to the clocks. She gasped and stood up quickly, swiping her alarm off and yelling for everyone to shut the fuck up so she could focus. And then she felt it, a slight itch and ache right in between her shoulder blades. She frantically tugged off her shirt, and ran to the tiny mirror in her front hall to read the script. The writing was messy enough that she almost couldn’t make out the words, but eventually she figured it out. She ran back into the living room immediately.

“Someone else tell me what this says so that I know for certain I am not just projecting what I want to see.”

“ _Oh, are you hurt? Are you alright?_ ” Jehan read out to her, “Oh, that’s kind of cute.” Eponine made a sort of squeaky noise she didn’t know she was capable of making and immediately pulled her shirt back on and ran in her room to grab her bag and keys as tears started to fill her eyes.

“I have to go! Make sure to check up on Gav every once in a while!” she shouted to the room of confused boys as she practically sprinted out of her apartment and in the direction of the city library.

###

Combeferre tapped his foot impatiently as he bit his thumb, going back and forth between staring at the clock and then staring at his phone. It was past midnight; if she was currently conscious she knew. She knew and she wasn’t calling and that’s a bad sign, right? Or maybe he was wrong? Maybe she got completely different words and he was just a complete fucking idiot who was completely enamored with some other bastard’s soulmate?

“Shit, get yourself together, Combeferre.” He muttered to himself as he angrily jumped out of seat at the front desk and grabbed the cart of books that needed to be shelved. He started arranging them by author so it would be easier to put back. His thoughts were racing the whole time and he found himself cursing the stupid twenty-four hour library. Who the fuck even _needs_ a twenty-four hour library? How was it legally still a thing? How was it economically still a thing? He was contemplating this very thing when he heard the alarm system beep, meaning someone had come through the front door. He looked up to see a very flushed Eponine walking towards him. His stomach dropped and his heart leaped simultaneously, making him feel very off-balance in the best kind of way.

“Eponine.” He breathed happily, but she just ignored him, pushing right passed the counter and cornering up against the desk.

“You. _Asshole_!” she hissed, pounding her fists multiple times into Combeferre’s chest, making him wince. She may have been tiny, but damn that girl could hit hard, “You knew all along and you didn’t tell me! You knew from that first second! That is so not fair!” The whole time she kept intermittently hitting him hard on the chest and shoulders.

“Ow, ow, okay! I’m sorry!” he apologized, knowing he didn’t sound sorry at all as he tried not to laugh, “It’s just I-” he didn’t get a chance to continue defending himself because before he was finished, Eponine had lunged forwards and kissed him, hard. He reacted immediately, softening his lips just a touch and bringing one hand to grip her hip and the other tangle in her hair. The kiss turned heated pretty fast and when Eponine rolled his bottom lip between her teeth Combeferre was panting for breath.

“I can’t believe you didn’t _tell_ me.” She said, hitting his chest once more for emphasis.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to know,” Combeferre said with a shrug; Eponine just stared at him incredulously, “People wait a lifetime for the big reveal. I figured you’d care about that, too.”

“ _Shit_ , Combeferre,” Eponine murmured, somehow making It sound fond as she brought a hand up to gently cup his neck and press their foreheads together, “All I care about is you. For God’s sake, I’ve been going _crazy_ for the past three months!” Combeferre laughed and nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about.

“I’m sorry. Also, I mean, I didn't even know if _I_ knew or certain... I am sorry.” He said again, but he still couldn’t stop grinning, smiling so much he felt his eyes start to water.

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve got all the time in the world to make it up to me.” She giggled infectiously and Combeferre to bent down to kiss her once again.

“By the way, summer camp was a long time ago,” Combeferre whispered seriously.

“Huh?"

“Well, I’ve had practice since then. So Enjolras’ information is very outdated. I’m positive I’m _much_ better than Grantaire.” Eponine laughed loudly and Combeferre couldn’t stop grinning.

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Eponine teased back before kissing him breathless once more.


	4. Cosette and Marius

“So I guess I need to go to one of these meetings sometime soon.” Jehan teased as he laid out on Eponine’s lap, who was sitting on his couch next to Combeferre, “It seems they have an endless supply of soulmates.” He sighed wistfully and grabbed Combeferre’s arm so that he could continue writing romantic poems up his forearms. Jehan was surprised by his lack of protest, but he appreciated it. He mentally approved of this guy who had his other arm around Eponine. He was happy for the two of them. Oh, and he wasn’t jealous. He wasn’t. He was happy, just happy… Okay, he was like 80% happy, 20% jealous.

“Yeah, you should! Not for that reason, because well, that’s a little weird. It isn’t Macy’s; you can’t just window shop. But they’re a good group of people. They need more feminine influence though, Jesus Christ there is a lot of testosterone in that group. But still, I think you would have fun with them.”

“Yeah, you should definitely come, Jehan. We’re always looking for more input.” Combeferre added. Jehan just hummed noncommittally. He was fully aware that he should go to these meetings. Grantaire had been telling him about how much fun he would have for _weeks_. He knew all about how _great_ Feuilly was and how _adorable_ Courfeyrac was and how _passionate_ Enjolras was. He got it. And he didn’t want to go. It was part of the depression, he knew that. Knowing that doesn’t make it easy, doesn’t make it easier to fix. He was just going through a bad spell; it happened every once and a while and then he would go back to being himself. Sometimes he just needed to wallow, and now that he was out of school and starting college soon, he felt so _heavy_ all the time.  

“Jehan! Jehan!” Bossuet yelled suddenly, banging open his front door and bounding into the apartment, towing behind him Joly and Grantaire, “Oh, Ep, ‘Ferre! You’re here too, good! We’re all here! Guess what! Guess what!” Grantaire slouched onto the couch next to Jehan and shook his head fondly at Bossuet.

“Hey lovely,” he said, turning his attention to Jehan, “How are you?”

“Tired. Couldn’t sleep last night. Inspiration kept hitting me.” Jehan responded, shifting his feet so that his legs were on Grantaire’s lap and his head was still on Eponine’s.

“So what’s going on, you guys?” Combeferre asked Joly and Bossuet, who were practically bouncing on the balls of their feet, looking like a couple of four year olds.

“We’re going to Greece!” they said in unison.

“What?” Eponine asked, confused.

“I said, we are going to GREECE!” Bossuet yelled again, throwing his hands up in excitement and almost hitting Joly in the face. He muttered an apology and kissed him on the cheek.

“Yes, I _heard_ it, dumbass, I want details! When, how, why?”

“Well, it’s my birthday in about a month and a half and my parents, in celebration of me finding Bossuet and all, bought us both tickets! It’s only for a little over a week, but we figured the chances of finding _her_ are better if we’re in a country where they actually speak Greek.” Joly explained, ending with a chuckle that Jehan had come to adore. Joly was like, the epitome of someone who chuckles. Before, Jehan only ever really thought people in books and bad kids shows chuckled, but no. He was wrong because Joly, like the literal ray of sunshine that he was, had a laugh that could only be described as a chuckle: dorky and completely endearing.

“University is just starting, though,” Combeferre interjected logically, “Are you going to be able to miss that much class?” Joly nodded and took Bossuet’s hand in his.

“Yeah, it will be tough, but our teachers said they’d help. Most of them thought it was terribly romantic.” Joly replied sweetly. Jehan was sure that no one could say no to the two of them, they were so fucking cute. Again, he was only … 30% jealous. That left a whole 70% of happiness for Bossuet. That’s formidable.

“Are you going to be able to miss _me_ for a whole week?” Grantaire asked, pointing at Bossuet with that raised eyebrow. Bossuet rolled his eyes and flipped off Grantaire who just laughed in response.

“Well this is exciting! Guys, I’m so happy for you!” _Like 65% happy_ , “Greece is beautiful, too. It’s nice and warm.” Jehan said, snuggling closer to Eponine. He felt someone run their fingers gently through his hair and hummed in happiness. It couldn’t be Eponine, because as much as she loved him, she hated touching long hair. Plus, the fingers were too long and too sure, nothing like Eponine’s delicate hands (Jehan knew she was embarrassed by her hands; she also had really tiny feet, too; it was incredibly adorable). That left Combeferre, and Jehan was pleasantly surprised. Tactile is always a good quality in friends.

“You’ve been?” Bossuet asked as Joly began switching channels on the TV and cuddling closer to him. Jehan nodded and closed his eyes again, reveling in the tug of Combeferre’s fingers on his scalp.

“When I was like fifteen, my parents took me one summer. The beaches are fucking pristine.” He yawned at the end of the phrase and Bossuet took the hint, reaching up to dim the lights as everyone in the room shifted to watch whatever movie Joly had picked. Everyone except for Jehan, whose eyes were still closed, and Grantaire, who had grabbed a sharpie out of his pocket and was now doodling on Jehan’s ankle which was resting in his lap. He drifted off to sleep like that, for how long he didn't know. He just knew that an indeterminate amount of time later he was jarred awake viciously by Eponine’s hand on his shoulder.

“Jehan, honey, wake up. I have to go pick up Gav, so we gotta go.” Jehan groaned loudly and shook his head, clinging to Eponine’s thigh in protest, “Jehaaaaaan.” She groaned back, pushing him to the side, forcing Combeferre’s hand out of his hair. She got up and reached a hand out to help ‘Ferre up too, but Jehan was too fast. He lunged into Combeferre’s side, resting his head in his lap and grabbing his hand to forcefully put it back in his own hair with a huff.

“No.” he said petulantly. He was always cranky when he was sleepy and, knowing this, Eponine just rolled her eyes fondly and leaned down to kiss Combeferre on the top of his head.

“Guess I’m staying?” Combeferre laughed, stroking a hand through Jehan’s long red hair, making the boy hum again.

“Yes, this is too nice. You cannot leave now. I’ll contemplate if you can leave ever and get back to you later.” Jehan said with another yawn as he squeezed his eyes shut again.

“Shut up, will you?” Grantaire whispered, “Some of us are trying to watch a movie, here.” Eponine threw a pillow at his head before leaning down to kiss Jehan goodbye on the cheek.

“Sleep well, love. Enjoy using my boyfriend as a pillow,” Jehan smirked, eyes still closed, so he didn’t see Eponine wink at Combeferre and mouth _I told you they would like you_ as she walked out the door quietly. Jehan fell asleep again easily, exhausted from not only the past night of no sleep but also from the past month of sadness. He felt on the edge of something good and he felt like if he could just rest a _little_ more he’d be back to himself once again.

The next time he woke up it was all on his own. He groaned softly and rolled over, squishing his nose on Combeferre’s knee in the process. He got up slowly, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes dramatically before he stumbled into the kitchen to make some tea. Everyone else was gone, the movie finished, and Combeferre was still asleep on the couch, so he wasn’t surprised when he checked the clock and saw it was already 4:00. He’d slept for five hours. Oh well. He heard Combeferre rise a few moments later as he placed the kettle over the stove.

“Good afternoon.” Combeferre said with a nod as he slid into one of the seats at the dining room table. Jehan nodded back with a smile before Combeferre slipped his vibrating phone out of his pocket.

“Who are you texting?” Jehan asked, nosily looking over his shoulder to try and sneak a look at the screen.

“Courf and Enjolras.” Combeferre answered with a yawn, “I was supposed to go to Enjolras’ to look over some stuff, but someone else commandeered me.” He was obviously teasing, but Jehan blushed nonetheless.

“Yeah, sorry. I get a little needy when I’m sleepy.”

“I noticed.” Combeferre said with a genuine smile. He was good for Eponine, Jehan could tell. He had a sort of relaxed way about him, giving smiles and encouragements easily, and Jehan found himself instantly calmed by his presence. Usually new people made him nervous. The silence between them stretched out for a little longer than what was comfortable, but right when Combeferre had opened his mouth to say something else, the tea kettle sang out. Jehan scrambled up to get it when Combeferre scrunched up his face and brought his hands to his ears, obviously uncomfortable with the noise.

“Sensitive ears?” Jehan teased once he’d prepared his tea and walked back to the dining room table. Combeferre laughed and nodded.

“High-pitched noises are my weakness. I’m secretly a golden retriever.” He said seriously, making Jehan giggle. They talked for a while longer about nothing really important, just following the pleasant flow of conversation. It was nice, especially as Jehan noticed he was slowly drifting back to himself. He was laughing easier, smiling more, and making witty remarks even. It wasn’t until he was walking Combeferre to the door that Jehan realized ‘Ferre had noticed too (Jehan, of course, would later learn, as everyone eventually does, that Combeferre notices everything).

“Thanks for the talk, Combeferre. That was really nice. Oh, and thanks for letting me use you as a pillow for the evening. You are very good at scalp massages.”

“Yeah, thank Enjolras for that one. He made me play with his hair _all the time_ when we were growing up. He still does actually. But anyway, yes. Thank you for the talk as well,” he was about to walk out the door when he turned around and faced Jehan again, “And Jehan? If you ever need to talk again, I’m happy to help, _whenever,_ with whatever.” And damn that sincere puppy-dog face, Jehan believed him.

“Oh, and I know Eponine said she invited you a couple of times, but you really should try to make it to one of our meetings. We’re getting together more often now that we don’t all see each other at school every day. You should try to make it. There’s one tomorrow?” Jehan smiled, for once not annoyed by the invite.

“I can’t tomorrow. I’m visiting my grandma tomorrow, but maybe next time? Text me when it is.” Jehan conceded. He wasn’t as put-off by the thought of the meeting now that his mood was significantly improved. Combeferre grinned and said goodbye and Jehan bounded off to his room to write a good number of lines about nice hands and sweet smiles and new friends.

###

Combeferre was a little bit in love with Jehan Prouvaire. He realized this on the walk over to Courfeyrac, Enjolras and Marius’ apartment and it was pretty jarring. So obviously, being the perfect gentleman that he is, he called Eponine. She picked up just as he was walking through their door, collapsing on the couch next to Enjolras and Courf.

“Hey, Ep. Bad news. I think I’m a little bit in love with Jehan.” He said, coming right out with it. Enjolras looked at him funny but Eponine just laughed.

“Oh, yeah I should’ve warned you that would happen. Don’t worry too much. We all are, honey. He’s practically an angel and I will fight you for him.” She said fondly, making Combeferre feel a million times better immediately.

“Oh thank God. I thought I was becoming a cheating whore.” He said seriously, again making Eponine laugh. He liked doing that, very much so, “And he really is an angel, isn’t he?” Eponine hummed in agreement.

“Wait until you hear his poetry,” she said distractedly and Combeferre mentally swooned.

“Good God, just the _idea_ of that is endearing.”

“I know, right? Yes, one day soon you and I will have a long talk about the complexities of Jehan Prouvaire.” Eponine said enigmatically. Combeferre could hear the honking of horns in the background, so he knew he should hurry up the call, but there was always something else to say to Eponine. It was the hardest thing in the world to end conversations with her.

“He’s manic depressive, isn’t he?” Combeferre asked once he’d moved to the kitchen and out of earshot, under the pretense of getting a water bottle.

“Shit, how did you know that?” Eponine asked incredulously.

“Because, damn it ‘Ponine, I’m a doctor, not an imbecile. And the signs were pretty obvious, the few times I’ve met him and based off what I’ve heard you and R say about him. It wasn’t hard to put two-and-two together.” He said with a shrug even though she couldn’t see him.

“Hey, you’re a doctor-in-training, don’t get cocky now. Although, man, you are smart. Is there anything you _don’t_ notice?”

“Nope. Now, I gotta let you go. I’m at Enjolras and Courfeyrac’s, so I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yup, talk to you later, ‘Ferre.”

“Bye, ’Ponine.”

“Who the fuck do you love more than me?” Courfeyrac said indignantly the second Combeferre had pressed the end button. Combeferre laughed and shook his head.

“I could never love anyone the way I love you, Courf.” Combeferre teased, taking Courfeyrac’s hand in his own and holding it to his heart. Courf narrowed his eyes.

“You’re late to dates, you didn’t text for hours, and now I hear you practically cooing about him on the phone! I’m hurt, ‘Ferre _. I’m hurt._ ” Combeferre shook his head at his best friend’s dramatics, “No seriously man who were you talking about? Is he hot?” Combeferre considered this a moment.

“I wouldn’t say hot. Beautiful. He is achingly beautiful.”

“Shit, you are a little bit in love.” Courfeyrac said with a raised eyebrow and a slight chuckle.

“Will the both of you shut up? We did come here for a reason, you know?” Enjolras snapped, not looking up from the pages of work he had in front of him. Courfeyrac rolled his eyes at him and grabbed his cherry coke off the floor.

“How does Grantaire put up with you?” he complained before taking a big gulp of his drink.

“I give _very_ good head.” Enjolras replied seriously, making Courfeyrac choke on his drink.

“Oh my God, shut the fuck up.” Combeferre groaned, grabbing the work out of Enjolras’ hands and hitting him on the back of the head with it. He just smirked and shrugged before all three of them dissolved into laughter.

###

Cosette loved her fathers, she really did. They took her in when she really thought no one else would; they loved her unconditionally and worked tirelessly for her; they never pushed her into a career or relationships or anything like that. They were great… They were also crazy. They called or Skyped her every single night and she had already been living on her own for three months! That is too much Skype for anyone.

So, the last time she visited home for the weekend, she had settled down to have a mature discussion with them about giving her distance, the opportunity to thrive on her own. They had taken it surprisingly well, although Cosette had buttered them up a bit. Well, a lot. She wore that sweater Papa had bought her when she was about sixteen that she never wore because it was horrible but he thought the color brought out her eyes and she made brownies for daddy, the ones that he never let himself have unless someone coerced him. It was perfect. There was no way they could fight her on this. A fight was impossible.

She did not expect the fight. The two of them had insisted that it was already terrifying for them for her to live on her own, that the city was a dangerous place and that she couldn’t blame them for wanting to make sure she was alright. In order to appease them, she told papa she would text them when she got home from school every night and she promised daddy that she would take self-defense lessons twice a week. That was why she was here, stretching in a side room at her gym, waiting for a new personal trainer to show.

“Yeah, Ep, I know, I know… Yes, it’s tomorrow! … Fuck, I know that, okay! … Yeah, yeah, I’ll think of something! I’ll… wait, I might have just solved it. I’ll call you back.” A man, Cosette assumed to be Grantaire, said into the phone he was balancing on his shoulder as he clambered into the room, “Hello. I’m Grantaire. You’re Cosette, right?” he asked with an odd smile after hanging up his cell. Cosette smiled her biggest right back, jumping up and extending a hand out to him. He took it slowly but firmly, all the while staring at her intensely.

“Wow, you’re beautiful.” He breathed, making Cosette fidget awkwardly. She wasn’t uncomfortable with being watched, per se, but Grantaire was openly staring at her and it was weird. He was like… _inspecting_ her.

“Um…” she stuttered, pulling back slightly. She signed on for personal training to deter creeps like this, so this was very counter-productive. She was going to have choice words about this highly recommended Grantaire to her father.

“You’re eyes are fucking gorgeous… Can I paint you?” he started again, about to move his hand to her face (and she was about to punch him in the nose, defense classes or not) when the door clanged open again.

“Grantaire, you forgot your water bottle.” A very attractive blonde man said from the door. He smiled lovingly at the trainer and even Cosette wanted to swoon. She looked back up to Grantaire and saw him looking equally as enamored. It was sort of adorable actually, the way they looked at each other as Grantaire loped over to him and grabbed the bottle from his hands with a thank you and a kiss on the cheek. And this all came as quite a shock, considering Grantaire was just trying to hit on her two seconds ago.

“So you’ll be done in an hour?”

“Yeah, I’ll find you when I’m done.”

“I’ll be on the treadmill.” He said, making Grantaire roll his eyes fondly.

“You always are.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Well, you _could_ stand to gain some muscle tone, but whatever. I mean, the skinny thing works for some guys.”

“Um, it worked pretty damn well on you.”

“Well, you’re right about that.” Grantaire teased, pulling the boy in by the shirt and kissing him sweetly. They kept kissing for a while, long enough for Cosette to look away awkwardly and clear her throat. They both got off each other, the boy blushing slightly.

“Sorry, I’ll just… go. Bye, R!” he said before slipping out back the way he came, Grantaire staring at him longingly as he walked away. Cosette stood up straighter and crossed her arms, trying to keep the smirk off of her face so she could look stern and disappointed. He turned back to her slowly, a hand rubbing at the back of his neck nervously.

“Sorry about that. We’re pretty recent… soulmates.” He said sheepishly.

“Ooohh,” Cosette tapped her foot and raised an eyebrow, “So what was that about me being beautiful enough to paint?”

“Oh shit! That wasn’t me coming on to you, no, no, no! I’m an artist,” he amended; Cosette still just stared, waiting for him to explain, “I have a show coming up soon and I need one more piece and I’m a little blocked. There’s only so many oil paintings of Enjolras I can do before my teacher tells me I’m lacking inspiration.” He shrugged and Cosette felt herself relax a little.

“Is Enjolras your boyfriend?”

“That’s him. He’s extremely aesthetically pleasing, no? My fingers have literally itched to paint him since I first laid eyes on that stupid fucking perfect face.” Cosette laughed, agreeing whole-heartedly. He had been alarmingly pretty.  

“You really want to paint me?” she asked after a moment, a little unbelieving. He laughed softly and nodded. It was very hard to look at him and see a cheating douche bag, so Cosette was relieved.

“Yes, I really do. In a completely platonic, I-just-appreciate-your-beauty-for purely-artistic-reasons, sort of way. Although, let’s be honest. If I wasn’t in a fully committed relationship with a man I am in love with, I would be definitely flirting with you right now.” He said with a grin as he set down his gym bag and started pulling out his things.

“Wait, this isn’t you flirting with me?” Cosette asked incredulously. Grantaire shook his head emphatically.

“Oh, no no no no. No, ma’am. I am a professional. I just want to paint you.”

“Oh, well, as long as you promise not to engage in any funny business, then I can’t see why I wouldn’t be okay with that.” She replied, sitting next to him on the ground in front of the big mirror and starting to work on stretching her legs again. Grantaire looked over with a huge smile making it impossible not to grin back.

“Really? You’d be okay with that?”

“Yeah, sure, why not? No nudes, though. Or clowns. Although I’m not sure why you would want to paint me with clowns.”

“No, I won’t be doing that. Marius would probably cry at my opening,” he said with a laugh, probably picturing it, “Anyway, we’ll figure that out later. You came here to learn, right? So, why boxing? Forgive me for saying, but don’t look like the kind to enter this particular sport.” She gave an indignant snort.

“You don’t look like the kind to cave to gender norms.”

“Hush! Don’t say ‘gender norms’ too loudly. Enjolras will hear you and lecture us for _hours_ ,” he whispered dramatically, making himself laugh (she would later learn that wasn’t an uncommon occurrence; Grantaire often found himself laughing at his own jokes, especially ones no one else thought were funny), “And no, you can do whatever the fuck you want. It’s just easier for me to help you if I know why you’re doing this, what your aim is.”

“Oh,” she said, shoulders relaxing again as she realized she wouldn’t have to go on a feminist rant, “Um, I’m not really sure. My fathers said I need to take some self-defense classes if they are going to ever truly feel okay with me living alone in the city. So here I am. I’ve always wanted to, actually, and this was just the push I needed.” She had always been tiny. The petite blonde with the tiny hands and the big mouth. She’d known for a while that it could be dangerous for her living in a big city. That wasn’t her being conceited or even scared; it was just realistic.

“Okay, I can work with that. Do you have any experience? Ever played any sports or anything?”

“I did ballet until I was sixteen. Track in high school. That’s pretty much all.” She said, standing as he did and rolling her shoulders to shake out any nerves.    

“That explains the wicked legs,” he said with a wink that made Cosette roll her eyes and punch his shoulder gently, “Well, let’s get started.” Everything after that was a whirlwind. She never would have known based off first impressions, but Grantaire moved at fucking two hundred miles per hour. He kept her on her toes the whole time, teaching her the basics and pushing her until she was panting and her legs felt like Jell-O.

“ _Jesus, Grantaire_ , you must be a fireball in bed.” She said once he let her have a break, about forty-five minutes in. She spread out on the ground, trying to catch her breath as Grantaire laughed above her.

“I’m flattered. You’re doing really well, too. I’m pushing harder than most people can take. I’m proud of you.” He added as he dropped down to the floor next to her and tossed her a water bottle, “I hope you feel like you learned something.” Cosette nodded vigorously.

“Fuck, yeah I did. I learned that boxing fucking sucks.” She huffed out, making Grantaire laugh again. She sat up on her forearms before saying more seriously, “No, I’m actually really thankful, Grantaire. I do feel good.” Grantaire nodded with a wide smile.

“I’m glad. And call me R.” she nodded and flopped back down to lay on her back again with a groan, “Sorry, gorgeous. We’re not done yet,” Cosette groaned louder and dramatically brought her arm up to cover her eyes, “Come on, this part you’ll be good at.” He jumped up and reached for her hand. She stared at it in contempt for a moment before grabbing it with a huff and hauling herself up.

“Okay, how are you going to kill me now?”

“No killing, _dancing_.” He announced happily. Cosette raised an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“You said you used to dance right? Well, I’m trained in ballroom dancing and that’s more of a work-out than most people think. So, unless you want me to pull out the punching bag again and we can go more reps there, you can let me lead you in a waltz.” He walked over to the cabinet in the corner by the mirror to grab an iPod dock. Cosette was beaming in excitement; she hadn’t danced in forever. Well, she hadn’t danced with someone who actually had talent in forever. She really hoped Grantaire had talent.

“You better be good.” She teased as he put on music and traipsed over to Cosette to take her hand and put one of his on her waist. He just winked as the music started and pulled her along. She was a little out of practice and she had only ever danced ballroom with Papa and her old partner Jacob (who was horrible, by the way; much to shy and she was pretty sure he had no grasp of rhythm), so she stumbled a little bit at first, but Grantaire was a perfect lead. She found herself quickly falling back into step, all of her old movements coming back to her easily. They were good together and it wasn’t long before Cosette was giddy with the high of moving along with the steps, gliding along to the music.

“I forgot how much I love this.” Cosette said breathlessly as they waited for the next song to start.

“You’re really good. This is definitely a treat. Enjolras isn’t much of a dancer.” He said listlessly.

“Well, no one’s perfect.” Cosette teased as they started to move together. They did that for a while, switching as the songs did from a waltz to a rumba to the tango, which made Cosette giggle with laughter.

“Well look at this.” Enjolras said from the doorway, “I was wondering why you were taking so long.” He teased. Cosette was startled and almost moved back, but Grantaire kept his hand firmly on her back and swept her around the room gracefully as the song faded out.

“Sorry, Apollo, I was just reveling in the fact that I had a gorgeous blonde who actually wanted to dance with me.” He countered back as he went to switch off the music. Enjolras pouted from the door.

“Well I didn’t know you were _that_ good. Now I really won’t dance with you, shit.”

“He’s actually a really good lead. He could probably make anyone look good.” Cosette amended, trying to make Enjolras smile again. Not that he wasn’t just as gorgeous frowning, but Cosette always liked it better when people smiled. Who doesn’t?

“Aw, don’t say that. You were damn good.” Grantaire told Cosette, leaning in to bump his shoulder against Cosette’s as they walked out of the room. She smiled at the praise and shrugged slightly.

“I’ve always loved dancing. Anyways, when do you want to paint me?”

“You’re gonna paint her?” Enjolras asked incredulously. Grantaire nodded with a smirk.

“Jealous?” he teased as he grabbed his boyfriend’s hand and sidled up close to his side.

“Really glad you’re gay.” He mumbled, glaring at Cosette playfully as he opened the door for them both. Cosette laughed loudly.

“Bisexual, sweetie.” Grantaire added with a smirk.

“Don’t worry,” Cosette hurried to add when Enjolras narrowed his eyes again, “I’m steadfastly waiting for my soulmate.” Cosette said as she tugged her baggy work out shirt off her right shoulder, showing the tattoo etched across her right shoulder blade.

“I can’t even read that.” Enjolras laughed, leaning in closer, “That’s horrible.”

“I know, the writing is horrid. It took me a really long time and a lot of staring at mirrors to figure it out; _I don’t know what to say_. That’s what it says.” She shrugged her sleeve back up and smiled wide, “So, you can rest assured that I will not be stealing Grantaire from you, no matter how hot he is.” This brought Grantaire’s attention back to her, as before he had been staring at the curve of her shoulder intensely. He blushed and rolled his eyes.

“Hey, can I get your number so I can text to figure out when we can do the painting?”

“Sure, but we can figure it out now, if your deadline is as soon as you say it is. I’m free this afternoon, actually.” Grantaire nodded his head and looked to Enjolras.

“I left my phone at home. Do you have Bossuet’s new number yet?”

“New number? He broke his phone again?”

“Yeah, he dropped it in a pond or something.”

“Wow, that kid is a mess. Well, I do have Joly’s. They’ll be together, so it’s practically the same.” Grantaire nodded and took his phone before dialing quickly.

“Hey, Joly?” he said, smiling widely at Cosette, invoking some suspicion.

“He’s planning something, isn’t he?” she asked Enjolras, who was staring at Grantaire suspiciously as well.

“Looks like it. I’m just glad it’s not about me.” He smiled at her sympathetically.

“Remember last week when we were talking and you said you wanted to get Marius a gift, for getting you and Bossuet together?... Yeah, return it. I found something better. Can you call Jehan and Marius and get them over to my place as fast as they can?... Yes, I need Jehan, too. He helps with hair... Okay, thanks Joly. I’ll see you soon.”    

“What was that, R?” Enjolras asked slowly. Grantaire kissed him on the cheek and turned to Cosette, giving her the address and telling her to be there at two, before running off with a wide smile. Cosette took a second to wonder what the hell she had gotten herself in to.

###

“I don’t know, Joly, I really wanted to work today.” Marius said into the phone, knowing his resolve was slipping. He knew he was a push-over with most people, but with Joly he didn’t stand a chance. No one stood a chance against Joly. He was like a guilt-trip machine.

“But Grantaire said he really wanted you over. He asked for you specifically. You’re going to really disappoint him if you’re not here.” Marius mentally groaned. He’d only just started thinking that maybe Enjolras’ boyfriend might want to be his friend, he didn’t want to mess that up for good.

“Why would he ask for me? I can’t paint to save my life.” He countered, grasping at straws.

“Come on, Marius. I don’t know how the artistic process works! Just come, bring your books if you must!”

“Well… if you promise you’ll let me study, maybe-”

“Awesome! I’ll see you in ten, Marius!” Marius heard the dial tone and groaned.

“I need better friends.” He huffed as he rolled himself out of bed and started putting clothes on. It probably wasn’t healthy to sleep in past one in the afternoon anyway, but whatever. Courfeyrac had kept him up until like four in the morning last night with his stupid singing and movies and talking. He literally just talked on the phone and the whole floor heard him, it was impossible. Usually Enjolras made him shut up at about one but he had been spending the night at Grantaire’s more and more often and Marius couldn’t make him stop. He couldn’t even make himself _ask_ Courf to stop. So he just passive aggressively wrapped his pillow around his head and decided to get back at his roommate later.

As he forced himself to get out of bed and start getting ready, he thought about how exactly he might go about this. Maybe he would steal the Strawberry pop-tarts that he always made such a fucking big deal about. Or put glitter-spray in his cologne. No, Courf would enjoy that one. He’d have to come up with something better. He’d had a rough plan to convince Courfeyrac that he was stuck in a dream, always asleep, but that was definitely in its early stages. It would take more planning and he needed associates to make sure that happened smoothly. He could always tape over Courf’s episodes of Say Yes to the Dress with those documentaries about the Napoleon Era that he loved so much. No, he didn’t want to push Enjolras to Courfeyrac’s side even more. It would have to be something more subtle, like gray hair dye in his shampoo or itching powder… He’d figure something out. Feuilly was good at stuff like this; he’d ask him.  He was still thinking as he walked towards Grantaire’s, staring at the sky and watching the cars passing by. He knew he _should_ be paying attention to the street signs. That was always how he got lost going everywhere; he forgot he was actually walking somewhere with a purpose and let his thoughts spiral, not watching where his feet are walking. But there were so much better things to think about then what turn to take or what landmarks to notice.

“Good God…” he muttered when he saw a dark blue car stopped at the stoplight he was about to cross. The girl driving it was beautiful, stunningly beautiful, and he had thought that ever since he saw her two months ago, running across campus towards the econ buildings. He had wanted to stop her, say hi, but she was moving so fast, weaving in and out of the crowds of people, that he couldn’t stop her, not even when she had met his eyes and blushed before moving along again. He hadn’t really told anyone about her. Grantaire had asked, that night, when Marius had stumbled into the Musain later than usual, but his teasings were enough for him to keep it from the rest of the group.

He knew Grantaire made fun of everyone in good-nature. Eponine had insisted that was how you knew he actually liked you, but Marius was still thoroughly embarrassed. He also didn’t want a whole group of people, no matter how dear to him they were, making assumptions and jokes about the beautiful girl he had seen. She deserved better than that. Grantaire mercifully hadn’t mentioned it again, probably sensing his embarrassment, and so it hadn’t come up again. He hadn’t told anyone, not when he saw her at that coffee shop or in the library where Combeferre worked, or in the window of the shoe place he passed that one time or at the soup kitchen when he was picking up Courfeyrac. He had to talk to her before he talked to them about her.  

He knew he was openly staring at her with what was probably that dopey grin that he always wore, the one Eponine said was the center of his charm, and people probably thought he was a major creep. He still couldn’t stop. Not even when she happened to turn her head towards him, meeting his eyes and smiling as well. It was pitifully endearing, that smile and Marius found himself more lost than he had ever been before. She raised her hand in a slight wave and Marius hurried to wave back, probably much too enthusiastically, and opened his mouth to say something, but the car behind her honked loudly. She looked in her rearview mirror and then up to the now green light and looked at him sympathetically before speeding away.

“No.” Marius whispered sadly as her car moved forward. The light to cross the crosswalk lit up so Marius petulantly trudged along, cursing is bad luck. It probably didn’t matter anyway. He was hopeless when it came to romance. He had no idea what he would say to her even if he did luck into a situation where he could talk to her. She’d probably be annoyed the second he opened his mouth. He kicked his feet as he walked along, knowing he was being childish but not caring either way. It was only by chance that he noticed when he got to Grantaire’s building, looking up just in time to stop himself mid-step in front of the door. He went up the stairs slowly, feeling his bad mood surround him. He heard voices as he rounded the corner to Grantaire’s floor and they got louder the closer he got to his door. A laugh rang out just as he opened the door and he didn’t pay attention to the source. He just walked over to the couch and flopped down on it with a groan. He was about to open his mouth to complain when he registered a feminine gasp. He raised his head and then scrambled up and off of the couch once he saw her. It was _her_. He felt his mouth open and close, probably resembling a trout, as he searched for what to say. She was even more beautiful in person, her brown eyes wide and her long blonde hair even brighter and her smile even more intoxicating. Especially since she was smiling at _him_ , making his heart flutter. He felt simultaneously like he was suddenly grounded, but also like he was flying.

“I don’t know what to say.” He finally spluttered out. She giggled and walked forwards, towards him.

“Then make no sound.” She whispered back, because yes, Marius noted, she was close enough to him that she could whisper and he would still hear. Marius whimpered, practically unbelieving what was before him. How could he be this lucky? She was a like a burst of light, brightening his life and turning everything he knew upside down. He wanted to laugh, wanted to somehow release the emotion he felt building and building in his chest. And then she kissed him, wrapping a hand around his neck and pulling him down to her (because she was very tiny, only slightly taller than probably Eponine, and Marius was a solid 6’1”). He gasped softly and almost froze in shock, but after a moment he made himself respond. No way was he going to lose his soulmate because he was a shit kisser. He poured everything he’d ever learned into this kiss, everything he’d ever felt, everything he was feeling, all the frustration, all the happiness, all of it, he wanted to give to her, his beautiful, perfect soulmate. 

“It’s you. I can’t believe it’s you.” She whispered once they’d pulled back for breath.

“You know me?” Marius asked incredulously and she nodded, “Oh, you mean from before? At the cross walk? Sorry I was being so creepy.” She looked up at him with a contentment in her eyes.

“Um, actually,” she started, and she actually sounded embarrassed, endearingly enough, as if she ever needed to be embarrassed to tell Marius anything, “I’ve seen you around campus a lot. I’ve always meant to say something, but I’ve been busy or you’ve been busy and… it just never worked out. I’m lame, I know-” Marius barked out a laugh, accidently cutting her off.

“Oh, _wow_. Then we have been doing the exact same thing. I have been calling myself a coward because of you for weeks. But if you must know, I have had a multitude of conversations with you in my head. We are both completely charming, if that makes you feel better. I’m Marius, by the way.” She smiled widely and kissed him once more.

“I’m Cosette. And it does.” She turned to Grantaire then, a hand cocked on her hip, “This was your plan then? This was your scheme?” Marius looked over at a grinning Joly, Bossuet, Grantaire, Jehan, and Enjolras. He honestly had forgotten they were there.

“Scheme is a harsh word, I never said it was a scheme. Enjolras exaggerates.” He said with that shit-eating grin that he always wore when he was really proud of something.

“You knew?” Marius asked Grantaire, confusion evident in his voice. R shrugged nonchalantly.

“Well, yeah. I mean I did listen to you ramble about her for a pretty long time, so I had a good picture of her in my head. And then when she showed me where her tattoo was and what it said, I knew it wasn’t too much of a longshot.” Enjolras hit him on the arm.

“I told you you’re smarter than you think. I’m impressed.” Enjolras whispered to him fondly, making Grantaire blush.

“It was nothing-”

“No, R, this was everything. Thank you, _so much_.” Marius said breathlessly as he grabbed Cosette’s hand and entwined their fingers together.

“Well, you know, friends help friends.” It's no more than what you did for Bossuet." Grantaire muttered, turning away from the thanks. Marius tried not to grin at that, happy that his insecurities were unfounded and Grantaire really did think they were friends. It was silly, but it meant a lot to him. He still felt himself grin. He looked down at Cosette and brought both her hands in his to his lips and pressed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Right as he was about to pull away he saw a flash of light.

“What was that?”

“Perfect!” Grantaire yelled, “You can leave now, if you want. Go be lovey-dovey in peace now, I have my painting.”  He said, gazing down at Jehan’s camera intently.

“You took a picture of us?” Cosette asked, surprised. Jehan nodded happily.

“Well, you both looked so beautiful. I couldn’t let a moment like that pass.”

“And it’s exactly what I need.” Grantaire added smugly.

“Send me a copy, please.” Marius said, making Cosette smile up at him again.

“Just come to my show, you can see it there.” Grantaire said with a shrug. They both agreed to, adding about a thousand thanks as well before they decided to leave together, get something to eat and just, well, be alone. It was strange, infinitesimally strange, that not thirty minutes ago Marius had been staring at Cosette from afar and now he was going to spend the rest of his life with her.

###

Cosette gripped Marius’ hand tightly as they walked down the street with Enjolras and Grantaire. They were headed to the Café Musain, to introduce her to all of Marius’ friends. She was nervous. She knew it was irrational, all of his friends had liked her so far. Grantaire loved her. She was still nervous.

“So I need a run-down of who exactly I’m going to meet.” She announced. Grantaire laughed and Marius squeezed her hand tighter.

“There’s nothing to be worried about, Cosette. They’re going to love you.”

“Yes, yes, I know. I’m amazing, I just want to be _prepared_.” Cosette said, not at all whining childishly.

“Okay, well, the only ones you haven’t met are Feuilly, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac.”

“Courf is important. He’s my roommate.” Marius interjected, cutting Grantaire off and earning a glare.

“They’re all important. But yes, Courfeyrac will want to know everything little thing about you ever. Even the things you don’t know about yourself. Be prepared for that. Um, there’s also Eponine.” Grantaire added quickly, “And you know Joly and Bossuet and that’s pretty much it.”

“Okay, tell me about the first two. Feuilly and Combeferre.”

“Feuilly is great, you’ll love him.” Enjolras said assuredly, “Everyone loves him.” Grantaire rolled his eyes.

“Yes, Enjolras has a huge crush on Feuilly and it’s a blow to my self-esteem every time he is mentioned. And no, Feuilly is great. He works like three jobs, though, so he’s busy a lot. But he’s a great guy, really reliable, great if you need a couch to crash on or like anything fixed. Then Combeferre is a little intimidating-”

“No he’s not.” Enjolras added, sounding put-off.

“Why do people keep cutting me off? Let me talk. As I was saying, Combeferre, Enjolras’ best friend and supposed-former-lover,” Cosette chuckled at that and Marius gaped, “Is a little intimidating at first. He’s great once you get to know him, though. He’s really smart, though. He knows everything about everything. He’s terrifying.”

“That’s an exaggeration. But yeah, you’ll like him. He’s dating Eponine now, lucky for you.” Enjolras added. Cosette looked over at him, puzzled.

“Wait, why lucky for me? What do you mean by that?” Cosette asked. Grantaire smacked Enjolras on the arm, making the blonde whine and grab his arm defensively. W _hat_ he mouthed at Grantaire’s glare, “Who is Eponine?” Cosette asked again, not liking being ignored.

“You should probably ask Marius about that.” Grantaire muttered bitterly, still glaring at his boyfriend.

“Why would she ask me? I’m just as confused as she is.” Marius added. They all looked up at him and Grantaire’s glare turned to him, increasing ten-fold. Cosette was increasingly confused. They had long since stopped walking and they were no standing in a circle about a block from a building with Musain in block letters on the front.

“Tell me you’re kidding.” Grantaire dead-panned. Marius just shook his head, looking genuinely confused.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re fucking _kidding_ me, right? Even _Enjolras_ noticed, you _prick_.” Grantaire was not exactly yelling at Marius, but the effect was the same. Marius’ face got really red and he took a step backwards as Grantaire took one towards him. Enjolras put a hand on Grantaire’s arm and tried to mutter something soothing, but Grantaire seemed too mad to listen, “God, I _bless_ the day she got that fucking tattoo. I take everything bad I’ve ever said about Combeferre back because he is my favorite person in the whole _fucking_ world because he’s not you. You pompous, ignorant asshole, I held her for _months_ as she cried over you and you never even _noticed?_ Goddamn it Pontmercy, we thought you at least knew! No, instead I have to find out that it all was for literally _nothing_! Fuck you, _fuck_ _you_ , Pontmercy. You don’t deserve one fucking second of her love, let alone the _years_ of it that she wasted on you.” He was practically seething with anger and even Cosette took a step back and subconsciously arranged herself in between Marius and Grantaire, as Enjolras had done.

“Grantaire, leave it.” Enjolras whispered, trying to push him away.

“No, I’m not going to fucking leave it! You didn’t see her, Apollo. You didn’t have to hold her all night as she sobbed and told me she wasn’t good enough. You weren’t there the times I had to pick her up off the floor drunk as she tried to forget _this_ asshole! And he never even looked hard enough at her to _notice_? She may be able to get past that, maybe even forgive him, but fuck that. I’m not as good of a person, Pontmercy. She may not feel the need to tell you what a dick you are, toying with people’s emotions like that, but I’m fucking done _. You didn’t even know_? Jesus _fucking_ Christ, Marius. She went to your dad’s funeral with you. She let you stay at her place for a whole summer when your grandfather kicked you out, when she had two other fucking mouths to feed. She spent two months teaching you German for God’s sake! You think she has time for shit like that? You think she had the time or energy to fix your car last year when it broke and you couldn’t afford a mechanic, you self-absorbed, Napoleon-loving, bourgeoisie-”

“Grantaire, stop! This isn’t what Eponine would want.” Enjolras growled, finally getting Grantaire to stop. He snapped his jaw closed audibly.

“She’s my friend.” Marius muttered quietly. Grantaire squeezed his eyes shut tightly and Enjolras turned his glare to Marius.

“Stop talking.” Enjolras warned Marius, “We’re going for a walk. Cosette, take Marius inside, maybe, will you? Buy him some tea. That should help.” He said as he tugged Grantaire down the street and away from the café, muttering what sounded like soothing words in his ear as Grantaire took deep breaths in and out.

“What just happened?” Cosette asked after a second of the both of them just standing there. Marius shook his head incredulously and went over to sit on the curb. Cosette settled down next to him awkwardly, tucking her legs up underneath her skirt and waiting for Marius to say something.

“I guess… Eponine was in love me?” he said, sounding disbelieving.

“Was?” Cosette asked softly, trying her hardest not to press for answers when he was obviously shaken.

“Well, I hope so. She’s with Combeferre now. They have the tattoos and everything… shit. _Shit_ , she was so in love with me and I didn’t even see it. Oh God, how could I not see it?” He sounded increasingly hysterical so Cosette shifted to kneel in front of him, taking his hands in her own, although hers were considerably smaller.

“Hey, hey, Marius. Calm down. Look at me, breathe in,” she over-exaggerated a deep breath until he copied her, “Breathe out. Good, love, can you do that again for me? In and out. Good, good job. A few more times with me, there you go… Now, can you maybe explain to me who Eponine is and why this is affecting you so?”

“She’s one of my best friends,” Marius said, hiccupping only slightly, “She’s been my best friend since the second grade when we met on the monkey bars. She yelled at a boy for pushing me off of them. I helped her bandage up her knee when he pushed her down too and she punched him in the nose. And then later that afternoon, we were sitting in class and I gave her my favorite purple crayon and told her we should be friends.” He said with a laugh and Cosette smiled with him, “She’s always been there…like, like a sister to me and oh, I’ve been _so_ inconsiderate.” He said with a groan, letting his head fall down in defeat. “I’m such a jerk, Grantaire was right-”

“No.” Cosette said firmly, taking Marius’ chin in her hand, “No. I may not know the whole situation, but I know that what Grantaire said, he said out of anger. He didn’t mean what he said, I’m sure of that,” Marius groaned again and shook his head, “No, listen to me Marius. I am certain that whatever you may have done to hurt Eponine, you did not do so with any sort of malicious intent. I’ve known you for less than a day and I know you would never hurt a fly intentionally, let alone a human being whom you love and respect. Grantaire was angry and irrational and he will come to realize that what he said was wrong. Don’t beat yourself up over the past, love. Don’t think about it, Marius. Think about the years ahead of us, those we have together and that Eponine has with Combeferre.” Marius looked up at her with wide eyes and a small smile.

“Together?” he asked shyly. Cosette nodded and kissed his lips softly.

“Always together.” She murmured encouragingly, “That doesn’t change the fact that you should apologize, though. You know that, right?”

“Apologize to who? Did you try to convince Enjolras that Napoleon wasn’t that bad of a guy again?” Cosette’s eyes shot up to see who had spoken. It was a pretty brunette girl, standing a few feet away, holding hands with a tall and handsome boy who was smiling down at her fondly.

“Eponine!” Marius said, scrambling up off the curb, never letting go of his death-grip on her hand.

“Marius!” she said, laughing at his earnestness.

“You’re Eponine?” Cosette asked, incredulous at their pretty bad timing. She was lovely, the girl, with her long brown hair and wide, expressive eyes. What was even lovelier was the way she looked at the man she was with, who Cosette was sure was Combeferre. They seemed very much in love, exchanging frequent looks back and forth while Marius scrambled. They were in-tune with each other in a way that only soulmates ever were. Cosette was suddenly sure she had nothing to worry about here- not that she was worrying before! That makes her sound petty and jealous, and she wasn’t worried before. She had faith in her connection with Marius but still… it could have been messy had she still been in love with Marius. She was happy that wasn’t something they would have to confront, exactly. 

“Yes,” the girl, Eponine, said with a confused smile, “And you must be Cosette?” she said after staring pointedly at their conjoined hands. Cosette nodded and smiled as Marius flushed. He still hadn’t met Eponine’s eyes and though the girl hadn’t noticed yet, Cosette had her suspicions that Combeferre knew something was amiss.

“Is something wrong?” he asked.

“Man, you really do know everything,” Cosette mumbled under her breath before tugging slightly on Marius’ arm, “No, not exactly. But, Eponine, I think Marius needs to talk to you, hmm? Right Marius?” Marius looked down at her with those big puppy-dog eyes and Cosette almost budged and said she would talk to her for him, but he needed to do this himself. Not only out of respect for his friendship with Eponine, but also with Grantaire. She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek, then whispered in his ear, “You have to do this sometime, Marius.”

“Combeferre, you don’t mind walking me inside, do you?” Cosette said sweetly and Combeferre smiled widely.

“Of course not. I’ll see you inside, ‘Ponine?” he slid his hand out of hers as she nodded reluctantly, looking slightly confused, “Right this way, Cosette. I know everyone is really excited to meet you.” Combeferre said politely as he steered her to the front door of the café.

“Is everyone already here?” she asked, maintaining something resembling casualty as she peeked over her shoulder to watch Eponine and Marius talking outside, Marius’ shoulders hunched dejectedly and confusion still prominent in Eponine’s expression.

“No, it’s just us so far, since Enjolras texted that him and Grantaire are going to be late and Feuilly works tonight and Joly and Bossuet are always late, so they’ll be here in about an hour or so.”

“What about Courfeyrac?” Cosette asked distractedly.

“Oh, he’ll be here soon. He just texted as well. Sit?” he said, politely pulling out a chair for her at a table near the window. He really was the picture of a gentleman. Her fathers would just love if she brought a guy like Combeferre home. She bit at her nail as she shifted in her seat, trying to see where Marius and Eponine were situated outside.

“So,” Combeferre said after a moment of her squirming, “Do you mind telling me what’s going on?” Cosette looked over at him quickly.

“Oh, well, um…” Cosette struggled for words, not knowing how much to say.

“Is it something I should be worried about? Eponine is my girlfriend, I have a right to know.” He added, not unkindly. Cosette nodded her head and turned more fully towards him.

“Well, um, Enjolras may have accidently let it slip that… Eponine used to be in love with Marius?” Combeferre just nodded his head calmly so Cosette continued, “And then Grantaire yelled at him pretty brutally and Marius was really shaken because apparently he had no idea,” Combeferre raised his eyebrows at that and Cosette felt her stomach drop, “Was it really that obvious?” she asked, already knowing the answer. Combeferre nodded.

“Even Enjolras noticed,” he said with a smile, “But seriously, she’s going to be okay with you two,” he added, making Cosette gasp softly.

“That’s not what I’m worried-”

“It won’t offend me, Cosette, and you’re allowed to be worried. This is a lot to take on in a relationship that isn’t even a day old, you’re allowed to feel a little insecure,” he smiled and she felt hugely reassured, “And yes, Eponine was in love with Marius, seemingly irrevocably. But, once he got his tattoo and it became quite obvious that she in fact was not his soulmate, she did everything she could to get over him. It wasn’t easy and it probably won’t be easy, but I’d like to think I help a little bit with that. As does Grantaire and Feuilly and her brother and sister and probably so will you. She is an incredibly strong person, probably the strongest I’ve ever met. Don’t worry about Eponine, okay?” he took her hand reassuringly in his and Cosette felt herself beam through the tears in her eyes.

“Marius really has the best friends, _damn_.” She breathed out, laughing softly, “Thank you, Combeferre. I needed to hear that.” She said sincerely, pulling him in for a hug. He resisted a little, probably out of shock, but he laughed a moment later and returned the hug gently.

“Hey guys, what’s up with Marius and Eponine? Oh! You must be Cosette!” Cosette heard as she pulled away from Combeferre.

“Yes, that’s me!” she said as she tried to discreetly wipe away her tears. The boy who had just clambered in and pulled out a seat at their table grinned and nodded.

“Ah, it’s nice to meet you! I’m Courfeyrac! Marius’ roommate? He probably told you about me.” He said with a laugh before pulling her into a hug, “So you’re Pontmercy’s soulmate! I have a lot of stories to tell you, my friend.”

“Wow, okay, you’re very friendly.” Cosette said with a laugh and Courfeyrac nodded and shrugged in agreement. Friendly was the epitome of the guy in front of her, curly brown hair, smiling green eyes, wide Cheshire-cat smile. He looked like he was everyone’s best friend and happy to be so.

“Thank you. You’re very pretty.” he teased, squeezing one of her cheeks in between his fingers and making her squeal. She pushed him away hard and he laughed as she hit his arm.

“Oh my God, do not pinch my cheeks!” she tried to sound annoyed, but it was hard not to laugh when Courfeyrac did. He made it sound so infectious.

“Sorry, gorgeous. I promise it won’t happen again. ‘Ferre, what is it with hot blondes not liking to have their cheeks pinched?” Courfeyrac asked sincerely. Combeferre shook his head and turned to Cosette.

“He did that to Enjolras in the seventh grade, when they met, and Enj punched him in the jaw.” He explained, making Cosette bark out a laugh.

“Well damn, my response was really lacking then.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re much nicer than Enjolras. But that’s not hard to be.” Courf said with a laugh.

Eventually all their friends trickled in. Cosette met Feuilly, who she talked with for a long time about Poland, where he had grown up and where she had visited a few times with Papa growing up. She talked more with Joly and Bossuet, the former of whom was very interested in her stories about her father’s brewery back in Germany. He was not as interested, however, in the way she could pop her shoulder forward, as she was double-jointed from an accident when she was younger. He’d practically screamed and burned her at the stake for witchcraft when she showed Bossuet, who got quite a laugh from the whole spectacle after calming his boyfriend down. All of the time, though, Marius and Eponine still sat just outside the Café. Their backs were turned to them now as they sat on the curb together. Cosette wanted to go out to see if they were okay, and she could tell Combeferre did too, but they both kept their distance. It wasn’t until Enjolras and Grantaire found their way back to the Café that Eponine and Marius got up too, following the pair in.

“Hey, you guys made it! I was afraid you’d killed each other on the way!” Courfeyrac announced as Enjolras and Grantaire pulled up a chair. Grantaire’s smile was as heartfelt as was Enjolras glare, making Combeferre roll his eyes.

“Seriously, what took you guys so long?” Combeferre asked. Enjolras looked over to Grantaire and smiled, taking his hand tightly in his own.

“We got lost.” Grantaire said with a shrug, “Also, um Cosette? I probably owe you an apology. No, I definitely owe you an apology. I’m really sorry for exploding like that before.” Cosette just smiled at him.

“You’re forgiven. Besides, I’m pretty sure that was years in the making. I doubt it had anything to do with me.” She said, trying to sound reasonable and not like she wanted to punch him in the face for making Marius cry. Because that would be irrational, and also because he could probably kick her ass. Grantaire nodded and smiled bitterly.

“More or less. Still, I’m sorry. To both of you.” He added quickly as Marius and Eponine walked in and pulled chairs up to the table as well, “As pointed out by Apollo, I was … exceedingly rude to you and I spoke out of anger and you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry for yelling at you.” Marius nodded and looked down at his hands shyly.

“Don’t worry about it, R. I’m… I’m okay.” Cosette mentally groaned at his words. He was like a little wet lamb that she just wanted to take home and wrap in a blanket and give a cup of hot chocolate and maybe put on some Disney movies for. Marius was literally a picture of innocence, like a golden retriever. _Like her golden retriever_ , she thought fondly as she stroked his hand his hers.

“How’d it go?” she whispered to him as Grantaire asked Joly about some movie he and Bossuet had seen recently and conversation was slowly building.

“Can I tell you about it later? Tonight, maybe?” Marius asked shyly. Cosette nodded up at him and kissed his cheek.

“But everything is going to be okay, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.” He said, sounding a trite bit more confident. He smiled sweetly and Cosette melted. She leaned her head against his shoulder and joined back up in the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So i thought i was going to do Courf and Jehan next, and then BAM! Marius and Cosette were all i could think about. So here this is. 
> 
> I hope you like it! :D 
> 
> (I think I'm gonna do Bahorel/Feuilly next, if anyone cares or is even still reading this!)


	5. Bahorel and Feuilly

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a small warning, there is a lot of cursing in this chapter that probably isn't exactly 'necessary' to the plot... but idek whenever i write Bahorel i write him a lot of curse words, so i'm sorry if that is off-putting!! :)

The night went on from there with little conflict. Eponine was sitting on Combeferre’s lap a few seats away, heads tucked close together, seemingly in deep conversation. And Cosette seemed to have made it a goal to get every single one of Marius’ friends to like her, and Feuilly was pretty sure she succeeded. She was the center of attention the whole night, especially with Courfeyrac, until at about 12:30 Grantaire’s phone rang.

“Hey, Bahorel… no, man, _no,_ you _know_ I can’t go afford hospital bills again… yes, I-… yes, I know the rules, Bahorel, bros help bros, but… there’s _six_ of them! There’s two of us!  They’ll kick our asses! … No, and even if he could box, how dare you suggest we risk his pretty face… Okay, fine, fuck you, ‘Rel, I’ll see what I can do… yes, I’ll hurry, shut the fuck up, I’m doing you a favor! ... _Goodbye_.” He hung up with a huge sigh and turned around the room dramatically, “Feuilly, how good are you in a fight? You’re the only one here who looks like they could hold their own in a fight.”

“Hey!” Courfeyrac interjected, sounding offended.

“Oh, please, Courf,” Grantaire said with a laugh, “I could snap you in half, pretty-boy.”

“I didn’t mean me,” Courfeyrac said, sounding dramatically exasperated, “I meant ‘Ferre. He has a very hot body.”

“Hmm,” Grantaire hummed as he examined Combeferre critically, “You wanna come, ‘Ferre?”

“No thanks,” Combeferre said with a laugh, “I’m really not a bar-brawl kind of guy.” He tightened his grip on Eponine’s waist and she kissed him on the cheek. Grantaire shrugged.

“Shame. You probably would kick-ass. So, Feuilly? How about it?” The red-head shrugged his shoulders and nodded.

“Why the fuck not? Who am I fighting for, again?”

“My friend Bahorel. He bartends down at the Corinthe and he said a few frat guys came in and were giving people a hard time, so they somehow ended up arranging a fight.”

“So we’re going to a rumble?” Feuilly teased.

“I don’t even fucking know. All ‘Rel said was that he would need back-up.”

“That’s the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard.” Feuilly said with a laugh as he stood up and shrugged on his jacket.

“Wait!” Enjolras interjected, “If you and Feuilly are going, so am I!” Grantaire just laughed and shook his head.

“Fuck no, gorgeous. Like I said on the phone, you’re too pretty to risk. Besides, you don’t know how to fight.” Grantaire said. Feuilly knew that now there was no fucking way Enjolras wasn’t going to go. Grantaire had been just the right blend of condescending and challenging that their fearless leader’s pride would never let him stay behind. He was also well aware the Enjolras could in fact hold his own in a fight. On more than one occasion, one of their rallies had turned rough and Feuilly had seen Enjolras do more than his fair share of damage.

“Um, fuck you, R. I’m helping. You said there were six guys. You’re only three. I can help.” He argued and Grantaire tilted his head to stare at his boyfriend. He opened his mouth to argue again but Feuilly cut in.

“He is good, I promise. He’s tougher than he looks.” Enjolras practically beamed at the praise and Grantaire rolled his eyes again.

“Fine, you can come.”

“How do you not get a headache from rolling your fucking eyes so often, R?” Enjolras asked, making Feuilly snicker as they walked out of the Musain.

The walk to the Corinthe was farther than Feuilly remembered it being, or maybe that was just his nerves. He never really liked fighting. He wasn’t bad at it, per se. He was strong enough that it was never too much of a struggle, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed. Something about crunching bones of someone who you have virtually no qualms against except ‘you pissed off a friend of a friend’ just didn’t appeal to him.

“He said to meet him around the back.” Grantaire said, leading him and Enjolras down a corner towards a pretty poorly lit alley, “Here- oh shit Bahorel! I told you to wait!” he yelled, shrugging off his jacket and running towards the group of people already fighting. Feuilly was pretty shocked to see the huge dude in the middle of the fight relatively holding his own against about five other guys. His lip was split and his eye swollen a bit, but he was still going strong and actually laughing as he went.

Feuilly lunged into the group and pulled one guy out by the tugging on the back of his shirt, sending him sprawling in the other direction. He got up with a huff and Feuilly knocked him out pretty efficiently with a right hook.

“Nice shot, Feuilly.” Grantaire grunted before another guy took a swing at him, punching him hard in the stomach. Feuilly didn’t get to see what happened next because he was being pulled back pretty roughly, but he was vaguely sure he saw a flash of blonde hair before his attention was diverted.

“Shit,” Feuilly muttered as he ducked under another blow before planting his hands firmly on the guy’s shoulders and bringing his knee up to his stomach hard. The guy went down with a grunt and Feuilly went over to help who he assumed was Bahorel. He was about to pull one guy off of him when Bahorel pushed him off himself and then grabbed Feuilly’s wrist hard. He cried out as he twisted his arm back, practically breaking it.

“What the fucking fuck are you doing, asshole?” Feuilly cried out.

“What the fucking fuck are _you_ doing, asshole?” the guy echoed back before gasping and dropping Feuilly’s arm quickly. Right as he did some dick came out of nowhere and hit Feuilly hard, right in the jaw.  

“Fuck!” he screamed as he stumbled backwards. When he turned back around, though, ready for a fight, when he saw the asshole already spread out on the ground and stumbling backwards. Bahorel shook out his hand a couple times, grinning as the assholes ran away. Feuilly looked over at Enjolras and Grantaire and then almost immediately had to look away, because Enjolras was kissing Grantaire’s knuckles softly and as much as Feuilly admired Enjolras, that shit was going to make him puke. Too much cute for his taste.

“So, you’re the reinforcement that Grantaire brought, huh?” Bahorel asked. Feuilly nodded and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

“I’m Feuilly.” He mumbled, not meeting the guy’s eyes. Bahorel held out his hand to shake and Feuilly just stared at it in disdain before moving to walk away quickly.  

“Oh come on, don’t fucking be a prick!” he said loudly, making Feuilly glare up at him and Enjolras and Grantaire finally walk over to them (and stop being super gay).

“Wait, what’s going on?” Enjolras asked, moving quickly to stand next to Feuilly.

“We’re soulmates.” Bahorel said, holding nothing back.

“ _Wow_ , _fuck_ _you_! Thanks for asking how I feel about everything before just broadcasting it to the world!” Feuilly snapped. Bahorel looked at him like he was crazy and Feuilly wondered momentarily if he was.

“What the fuck is up your ass?” Bahorel snapped back angrily. Truth was, he didn’t want a soulmate. Let alone one like Bahorel, who, based off the stories he’d heard, engaged in bar-fights on a regular basis, drank whiskey like water, and never showed up for the classes for a degree that his goddamn parents were paying for. That wasn’t a person Feuilly was interested in even talking to, let alone spending the rest of his life with. No matter how fucking hot he was or how toned he was or how he had olive skin and blue eyes like that wasn’t fucking illegal.

“Not you.” He muttered bitterly before storming away quickly. He heard Grantaire bark out a laugh and he also heard Enjolras scold him quietly.

“Hey, don’t leave! Wait!” he heard Bahorel yelling behind him, “You can’t just go.” He said softly after catching up to him and putting a hand on his shoulder to stop him. Feuilly stared at the hand until it dropped away awkwardly.

“I don’t want a soulmate.” He said bitterly before walking away once again.

###

“Well that fucking sucks, doesn’t it? Because you’ve got one, asshole!” Bahorel screamed after him. He was going to let him walk away. He was going to let the ginger prick walk away and he was going to give him space for approximately two days before demanding that Grantaire give him his number and address and then he was going to find him and beat the shit out of him and then kiss him until he promised to date him… okay, that made his sound really fucked up, but whatever. _Fuck that guy_.

“Fucking asshole.” Bahorel muttered before running after him again, “Hey! Feuilly! Slow the fuck down, you selfish prick!”

“Jesus, take a hint and stop following me, will you?” he snapped once Bahorel had caught up with him. Bahorel knew he shouldn’t be smiling. The guy was obviously pissed; smiling at his emotions, however fucking demented they were, was decidedly not a good way to convince someone you are worthy of a relationship. But something about arguing with this guy made Bahorel grin. It was like a boxing match, all quick shots and adrenaline.

“I will when you come up with a not shitty reason why you’re running away from me.” He said with a grin. Feuilly scowled at him and narrowed his eyes.

“I told you. I don’t want a soulmate, let alone _you_.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa there. Hold on. You don’t even know me!”

“Yeah, well what I’ve heard of you I don’t like very much.”

“Like- _fucking_ -what?”

“Like you skipping every other class for the past two years of schooling? Like you mocking the education you’ve been offered by choosing to stay up getting drunk and beating up idiots in the alley instead of fucking studying and taking advantage of the opportunities presented to you like every fucking  underprivileged kid in the world would do if they were in your situation. But no, you’re just another fucking pretty rich boy who takes for granted everything I’ve ever wanted in life, everything your parents are fucking paying for.” Bahorel took a deep breath as he tried to tell himself that punching this guy in throat wasn’t a good decision. He suddenly understood what Grantaire was talking about when he tried to say how he felt when Enjolras argued with him. It was like a punch to the stomach, his words hitting home in all the worst places, while at the same time being so obviously wrong that he can’t fathom why someone so intelligent would agree.

“Okay, first of all _asswipe_ , I am not ‘pretty’. I am ruggedly fucking handsome,” he said, making Feuilly scoff, “And secondly, I repeat, you don’t even know me, you pretentious fuck, and you sure as hell don’t know anything about my goddamn family or anything that they have ever done to get me here, so shut the fuck up about things you don’t understand. And third, fuck you! And fourth, FUCK YOU. Aren’t you supposed to be a part of Enjolras’ little activist group, you know, the people who fight for _equality_? And not judging people based off _ill-informed, judgmental bullshit_? Hmm? Yeah, that’s what I thought. Because you may not realize this, but you aren’t the only one in this situation. I didn’t fucking ask for this either, but here we are. So stop being a complete ass about it.” It was Bahorel who walked away this time, using the advantage of his freakishly long legs to get away from Feuilly and past Enjolras and Grantaire in record time. And if he woke up that next morning at eight and got to his first lecture promptly at nine, it wasn’t because of anything that fucking asshole said.

###

Feuilly didn’t have much of grace period before he saw Bahorel again. He knew the peace was too nice to last, so it wasn’t much of a surprise when he was woken up on Thursday evening to a ridiculously loud banging on his front door.

“Open up!” _bang, bang, bang,_ “Please, Feuilly! I know you’re in there! Open the goddamn door!” _bang, bang-_

“Jesus Christ! What do you w _ant_ Bahorel?” Feuilly yelled, swinging open his front door and catching Bahorel mid-knock. He looked at him guiltily, fist still poised to knock, as he took in Feuilly’s appearance.

“Were you asleep?” Bahorel asked, confused. He had been asleep, actually, and Bahorel’s incessant knocking meant he barely had time to grab his old flannel pajama bottoms and yank them on, let alone grab a shirt. Bahorel was not being coy about staring.

“Yes, I was. I’m not one hundred percent sure I’m awake now.” He grumbled back, running a hand over his face a couple times.

“Oh?” Bahorel teased, leaning in closer, “Do I star in a lot of your dreams?” Feuilly rolled his eyes and it was definitely only the sleep-deprivation that made it hard for him not to smile. It wasn’t Bahorel’s stupid smile or his condescending wink. God no.  

“What the fuck do you want, Bahorel?” Feuilly asked, leaning his head on the door. Bahorel just stood up straighter and smiled.

“I’m here to take you on a date!” he answered enthusiastically. Feuilly just stared at him for a second, thinking he was literally out of his fucking head, before moving to slam the door shut in his stupid handsome face.

“Hey! No!” Bahorel shouted, putting a hand up to stop the door closing. Feuilly tried pushing harder but the guy was massive, “Come on. Give me a chance!” Feuilly sighed and leaned his head once more on the door before swinging it open wide.

“Please, Bahorel, come into my home. Ruin my morning, why don’t you.”

“It’s seven at night, Feuilly.” He said with a laugh.

“Yes, and on Thursdays my shift at the supermarket downtown starts at 11:30, so this is my morning thank you very much. I should still be asleep.” He muttered angrily as he went into the kitchen to put on the coffee pot. Once it was brewing he stomped off to his room to grab a shirt, so he wouldn’t be half-naked. When he walked back into the living room after shrugging on an old band t-shirt, Bahorel was in the kitchen. Feuilly knew that because his jacket was tossed on the back of his couch (will no care for cleanliness or you know, any state of order in which Feuilly prefers to keep his apartment) and there was a noise of pots clanging coming ominously from the kitchen.

“What are you doing?” Feuilly asked, pinching the bridge of his nose. Combeferre told him that really didn’t do anything, it wasn’t a pressure point or anything, but Feuilly was convinced it helped. Maybe it was psychosomatic. Either way, he wasn’t angry anymore. He was just annoyed.

“Making you breakfast! I was going to take you to a bar or something, like normal people do at night, but I’m willing to alter plans for you. That’s how dedicated I am to making this work.” Bahorel said happily. Feuilly slid onto a barstool and let his head fall to the counter, groaning.

“Is that supposed to make me feel bad?” he asked with his face still smushed into the counter.

“I don’t know. I say what I say, you feel what you feel, I can’t control what’s gonna happen.” Bahorel muttered as he opened the fridge and pulled out a shit load of food.

“Hey! Don’t use all my food! I’m not made of money, asshole!” Feuilly shouted, pointing at the eggs, spinach, bacon, sausage, cheese, and milk that Bahorel had somehow managed to grab in one armful. Bahorel just rolled his eyes and tossed the food down on the counter.

“You’re not allergic to anything, are you?”

“Why would I buy something I’m allergic to and keep it in my apartment?” Feuilly asked with another groan. He was probably being petulant, but he couldn’t make himself care. Too tired.

“Oh, good point. See, you’re smart. I’m learning more and more about you, this is good.” Bahorel said smugly as he turned to light the stove and start mixing ingredients. Feuilly watched him with slight disdain as he spun around the kitchen with ease. That wasn’t attractive, the cooking thing. No, it wasn’t something that Feuilly had always said was something he would want in a partner. And no, Bahorel did not look really good… okay, yes he did. It was just a blatant lie to pretend like that wasn’t true. He’d taken off his jacket and was just wearing a white t-shirt, and with his tan skin it was practically see-through, and it was short-sleeved, so it showed the tattoos that he had wrapped around his biceps. And the jeans were practically a sin, tight and black. Feuilly was vaguely sure that Bahorel could kill a man with those thighs.

“So, tell me about yourself, Feuilly-”

“No.”

“Like maybe why you’re so fucking reluctant to get to know me-”

“Stop talking.”

“Or maybe why you don’t even want to be my friend.”

“Don’t- wait, what?” Feuilly asked, surprised by the softer tone Bahorel had taken. The man turned around quickly, not quite angry but not happy, either.

“I don’t understand why you’re being such a dick. I get it if you don’t want to date me. That’s fucking fine, whatever. I’m not your type, I get it. That sucks, but I’m a big boy. I’ll get over it. Maybe you’re not gay, whatever. It’s just not fair for you to completely cut yourself out of my life, because like it or not, something about us _matches_ or whatever. I’m not a psychopath. You’re not a psychopath, according to Enjolras. Why can’t we t _ry_ to get along? I would like to get along, Feuilly.” Feuilly stared up at him with wide-eyes, trying to find a rebuttal that wasn’t childish and stupid.

“It’s not the gay thing.” He said quietly. Bahorel looked at him weird.

“What?”

“It’s not the gay thing. I mean, I’m not gay, I don’t think. I usually date girls but, I mean, Enjolras and I hooked up a couple times, so-”

“ _What?”_ Bahorel asked again, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. Feuilly didn’t respond; he didn’t really have anything to add until Bahorel elaborated. He just stood there for a couple moments longer before opening his eyes and waving the spatula at him rudely, “You and Enjolras?” Feuilly just nodded. Bahorel took a moment before asking, “Who topped?”

“Oh my God!” Feuilly shouted with a groan, laying his head back on the table.

“I’m serious!” Bahorel whined with a laugh, “I can’t tell!” Feuilly couldn’t help but laugh into the table as Bahorel laughed as well.

“You’re an idiot.” He muttered as he watched Bahorel turn back to the stove. He just shrugged his shoulders and got back to work.

“It’s a legitimate question. But okay, you don’t have to answer I guess. But man, who hasn’t Enjolras slept with?” Bahorel asked seriously and Feuilly laughed again, shaking his head softly and pillowing his head in his arms again.

“You’d be surprised.” He mumbled with a laugh. He let Bahorel finish making breakfast in silence, or more accurately, Bahorel let himself finish making breakfast in silence. Once it was done, Bahorel spent a couple minutes looking for the plates before bringing the omelets over to the table Feuilly was sitting at.

“Thanks.” Feuilly muttered shyly as he started eating. He knew he probably should have politely refused or something before he even started cooking, but Feuilly had never been one to turn down food. Especially breakfast food. And it didn’t help that is was fucking delicious. He had to physically stop himself from making noises that were the equivalent of a food orgasm. Bahorel did not hold himself back as Feuilly did.

“Hot damn, I’m good.” Bahorel muttered with a smile as he finished his food. Feuilly glared at him across the table. Well, he tried to glare but he was afraid his eyes might have been glazed over with something other than disdain. His breath caught more dramatically when Bahorel lifted his arms behind his head to stretch out, showing the back of his left bicep, where Feuilly’s handwriting was etched into the skin. Bahorel grinned devilishly when he caught Feuilly staring, but didn’t say anything about it. He just got up and bounded into Feuilly’s living room.  

“Um, what are you doing?” Feuilly asked as he grabbed the leftover dishes as quickly as he could, dropping them in the sink unceremoniously and following Bahorel.

“Looking at your apartment.” He announced, like he wasn’t being completely rude, as he scanned over the bookshelf Feuilly had spanning the far wall of his apartment. He was looking closely at the few pictures he had up, the ones of him and Enjolras and Combeferre, of him and Eponine, of all the Les Amis at their first successful rally.

“Where’s the family?” Bahorel asked quietly, genuinely curious. Feuilly felt his stomach clench, not knowing how much he actually wanted to tell him. Well, if he didn’t tell him now he’d just find out from Enjolras or someone else later. And Feuilly had never been one to lie. That took too much effort to maintain.

“Um, that’s them,” he said awkwardly, pointing to the pictures he had up, “I’m an orphan. Grew up in the foster system, so the Les Amis are as close to family as I have.” Bahorel just nodded. Feuilly could feel his eyes on him, but he refused to meet the other man’s eyes. He knew he was being a coward.

“Pretty great family.” Bahorel whispered sincerely and Feuilly nodded in agreement.

“What about you?” he asked, desperate to shift the focus off himself.

“My family? They’re alright. My mom died when I was eight, but my dad re-married eventually. His new wife is alright. Talks a lot, but she’s alright. I have a younger brother, back in Boston. He’s sixteen. Probably a bigger asshole than you, but he’s a good kid.” He could tell Bahorel was fond of his family, despite trying to seem impartial. It made Feuilly smile.

“I’m sorry about your mom.” He said quietly. Bahorel shrugged and grinned again, but it didn’t quite meet his eyes.

“Thanks. I was young though, so I don’t really remember her. What I do remember, though, she was pretty great. She used to sing this song…” he stopped and blushed, “Aw, you don’t wanna hear this. Sorry.” He said with a self-deprecating laugh. Feuilly smiled at him sadly and shook his head.

“I’d like to hear.” Bahorel looked over at him and raised his eyebrows, surprised.

“ _Make You Feel My Love_ , by Bob Dylan,” he said fondly, “I can’t hear it to this day without tearing up.” Bahorel said with a fond laugh. Feuilly couldn’t make himself picture that, Bahorel crying. The image just didn’t fit with the guy standing in front of him, all wide smiles and big laughs. Feuilly didn’t want to feel touched; he tried not to. But something in him groaned at seeing Bahorel sad, so it really wasn’t in his control when he reached out and took Bahorel’s hand in his own, squeezing slightly. He looked down at their conjoined hands and smiled wide before returning the pressure.

“You should probably start getting ready for work.” Bahorel said after a moment, pulling his hand away from Feuilly’s.

“Oh, yeah I guess.” Feuilly admitted, startled at the shift in conversation. Bahorel grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch and shrugged it back on, “Thanks for… breakfast.” Feuilly said with a laugh.

“My pleasure. Thanks for enduring my company.” Bahorel teased with a smile. Feuilly felt himself blush and cursed his fair skin as he walked Bahorel to the door. He turned towards him right as he was about to walk out the door and opened his mouth as if to say something. After a moment he closed his mouth and shook his head softly with a small smile. He locked eyes with Feuilly and he felt his breath catch as Bahorel leaned in. At the last moment, Feuilly panicked. He backed up quickly and Bahorel stood up straight again, caught off-guard.

“I’ll see you around, Bahorel. Thanks again.” Feuilly said hurriedly as Bahorel walked out.

                “Yeah, bye Feuilly!” he said right as Feuilly swung the door shut. He groaned and leaned his head on the doorframe for a minute before looking up through the peep hole to see if Bahorel was still there. He was. He was just standing there, staring down at the doorknob with a frown. No, it wasn’t exactly a frown. It was sadder than that and with a sudden painful realization, Feuilly knew that he was being a monumental prick. Bahorel sighed deeply and then shoved his hands in his pockets before walking away, shoulders hunched but steps long. Feuilly breathed a sigh of relief as he walked away and then cursed himself for it.

It was just… he didn’t _want_ a soulmate. He didn’t _need_ a soulmate. He’d been working on his own for years now and he was doing fine. Abso-fucking-lutely fine. He didn’t need Bahorel and his boisterous laugh and his perfect body and his entertaining conversation. Tonight was probably just a fluke anyway. They would probably argue all the time, worse than Enjolras and Grantaire, probably. Well, that’s harsh. Not many people are worse than Enjolras and Grantaire when it comes to arguing. But still, it wouldn’t be great. Probably.  

But shit, fucking shit, Feuilly knew that wasn’t true. He knew he was grasping at straws with this Bahorel thing and it had only taken one stupid date to realize that. Because no matter what Feuilly wanted to say, that was obviously a date, despite the fact that it was spontaneous and short and Feuilly hadn’t even put on real clothes, it was a date. And damn the bastard, Feuilly _already_ _missed_ Bahorel. He was so screwed.

###

Bahorel was so screwed. There was no way he could just be friends with that stupid ginger bastard. Even if you put the physical attraction between them aside (which was there, on both sides, Bahorel was sure, if the way Feuilly had stared at his arms for a good twenty minutes meant anything), and you still had the fact that Feuilly was great conversation. Bahorel never found great conversation in the people he wanted to fuck. His last girlfriend, who he had dated on and off for about three years, barely ever talked to him. And if they did have a conversation she spent three-fourths of it laughing.

Not that he just wanted to fuck Feuilly. No, dear God, Bahorel wanted to date the crap out of Feuilly. He was going to take him to the movies and bars and crash over at his place and buy him random gifts just because he felt like it and introduce him to his family and sit with him while he worked and get a fucking cat with him or something. He wanted to be the person he went to when he was sad and who he goes to first when he has good news and surprisingly, that didn’t make Bahorel feel needy at all. Thinking about it, he sounded like a freaking teenage girl, but whatever. He wanted to be a teenage girl with Feuilly. He was man enough to accept that. And fight for it.

“Bossuet, tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.” He said instead of greeting when Bossuet answered his call finally.

“‘Rel? Shit, it’s two in the morning, what do you want?”

“Feuilly! Bossuet, I want Feuilly!” Bahorel yelled a little too loudly into the phone, making Bossuet groan.

“Okay, shut up. Are you drunk?” he asked, yawning at the end of the phrase.

“Yes.” Bahorel insisted after nodding for a moment or two without Bossuet responding, “I may perchance be slightly intoxicated in an attempt to numb the pain of my soulmate’s rejection of me.”

“Oh, ‘Rel. Feuilly will come around. Just give him some time. He’s been alone for a long time. This is a big change for him.” Bossuet said, sounding a lot more awake for some reason. Bahorel sat up straighter in his seat, not having considered this angle before.

“What do you mean? Elaborate.”

“He’s been alone since he was like, _nine_ , Bahorel. His parents dropped him off at an orphanage when he was just a baby and he ran away from foster care really young. He’s never really had a family and he’s fought for everything he has all by himself.  He probably doesn’t want to let himself believe you’ll stick around. Or that he even needs you to.” Bahorel felt a weight settle in his chest at the pain that Feuilly must have had to endure before finding the Amis.

“But I want to be with him.” Bahorel whispered.

“Aw, honey, I know. Tell him that. He’s a great guy, he really his. One of the best. He’s just monumentally stubborn.” Bahorel nodded his agreement and then took his phone off his ear and checked to make sure he’d dialed the right number.

“Is this Bossuet?” he asked incredulously.

“Huh? Oh, no, it’s Joly. Bossuet fell asleep while you were still talking so I took over the conversation.” He said sweetly, making Bahorel laugh.

“Well, thanks Joly. I’ll talk to you later. And hit Bossuet in the head for me?”

“Okay. Bye Bahorel!” he said cheerily, much too cheerily for two in the morning, before hanging up. Bahorel stood up then, only swaying slightly, before determinedly marching back to Feuilly’s apartment. It wasn’t until he was already at the door that he remembered Feuilly was still at work.

“Oh well.” Bahorel muttered, leaning his back against the door and slumping to the floor, “I’ll just wait then.” He closed his eyes then, fully intent on waiting for Feuilly to get back and dazzle him with a speech about his unfailing dedication and his promise to be his best friend forever, but the second he closed his eyes he was asleep.

###

“Fucking hell, man. I’m too tired for this.” Feuilly said when he walked up to his door at eight in the morning and was presented with a 6’4” man asleep in his doorstep. He kicked Bahorel once, twice in the side and the brute still didn’t budge, “Come on, Bahorel, _move_.” He said loudly into Bahorel’s ear. Still no movement. Feuilly muttered a string of curses under his breath and brought his keys to the lock, opening his door quickly. Bahorel fell backwards with the door, hitting the ground with a loud thud, but stayed asleep.

“You have _got_ to be kidding me!” Feuilly yelled. He climbed over Bahorel and dropped his bag on the couch before walking back over to the giant man asleep in his doorway. By the time he had walked back, Bahorel had curled up on his side and was now muttering softly to himself.

 “This is pathetic.” Feuilly said out loud to no one as he bent down and grabbed Bahorel by the shirt collar and tried to tug him forwards so he could shut the door. He grunted and groaned as he tried to get him to move even a little, but nothing worked. After about five minutes of pulling and tugging with like two centimeters gained, Feuilly slumped to the floor, defeated.

“You need to fucking lose some weight.” He complained to Bahorel’s sleeping form. He felt himself drifting off to sleep, pure exhaustion from the night before, doing work and working himself into a frenzy thinking about the giant lug he was now staring at. He desperately wanted to sleep and while his neighborhood wasn’t horrible, it definitely wasn’t one where you could leave your door wide open and not expect to get robbed blind. So Feuilly forced himself up and towards the kitchen. He grabbed a cup from the cupboard and filled it with tap water before walking over to Bahorel and upturning the whole thing over his head.

“Well, that worked.” Feuilly said smugly as Bahorel shot awake, spluttering loudly and gasping in shock, “Shut the fucking door behind you.” He yelled out as he walked towards his room, shrugging off his uniform shirt and pants and crawling under his covers without a second look back to Bahorel. Well, he said he wasn’t going to give the asshole a second look, but that was hard to do when he heard his bedroom door creak open. Feuilly opened one eye and saw Bahorel standing there, running a dish towel through his wet hair and staring at him like a pretty intense creeper. After a second longer staring he shrugged off his wet shirt as well and Feuilly squeezed his eyes shut, refusing to be drawn in to his rugged charms. Feuilly was stronger than this. Well, if he was really strong he would tell Bahorel to get the fuck out of his apartment. But he wasn’t doing that. No, he was letting Bahorel push back the covers and slide into bed with him. Feuilly tensed, trying not to move in the slightest, but he relaxed noticeably when Bahorel settled, the ridge of his back resting just slightly against his own.

“You’re lucky I have a big bed.” Feuilly grumbled, but Bahorel was obviously already asleep again, so Feuilly closed his eyes and attempted to do the same.

###

Bahorel woke up slowly, more comfortable than he had been in a really long time. He blinked his eyes open and attempted to stretch out, only to remember suddenly that he was in bed with Feuilly. He was Feuilly’s bed. With Feuilly. And said soulmate was currently tangled together with him, clinging to him like an over-sized monkey. Bahorel laughed slightly at the picture in front of him, but he couldn’t really blame the kid. Jehan had once told him that Bahorel was born to be cuddled with, because he was practically a personal heater. Drowsy people were drawn to him like moths to a flame. And yes, he was completely aware of this when he climbed into bed with Feuilly. Yes, he knew this would happen. No, he was not ashamed. Feuilly mumbled something in his sleep before burrowing closer into Bahorel, tucking his head in his neck, his breath tickling Bahorel slightly. He chuckled and tightened his arms around the boy, wishing it could be this easy when he was awake. He wanted to reach up and run his hand through his messy red curls, but he also didn’t want to wake him up. If he was going to wake him up it would be with his mouth on his cock, but something told Bahorel that would be a little too forward. He’d do that eventually.

It didn’t take long for Feuilly to wake up himself, and Bahorel could tell the exact moment he did. It was pretty obvious, because he wasn’t subtle in jumping back quickly, scrambling away as fast as he could and falling off of the bed with a squeak. Bahorel tried not to but he couldn’t stop himself from bursting out laughing. It only got harder to stop when he looked down at Feuilly who has still pouting at the foot of the bed, glaring up at him.

“Fuck you.” He mumbled angrily before pushing himself back up and on to the bed, flopping down on his back, “What time is it?” he asked. Bahorel turned his head to look at the alarm clock he had on his nightstand.

“A little past one.” Bahorel answered happily and Feuilly nodded, seeming content, “Where do you work today?”

“I don’t. Friday is my one day off.” He said with a yawn, his eyes drifting closed again. He really wasn’t a morning person. Or, well, not morning exactly, but whatever. Bahorel sat up on his forearms and grinned over at Feuilly who cracked open one eye and stared at him suspiciously.

“Me too! What a coincidence!” Feuilly stared at him, deadpanned.

“You don’t have class?” he asked, obviously not believing him.

“Nope!” Bahorel answered, popping the p obnoxiously, “You’ve got me for the whole day.” Feuilly rolled his eyes but even Bahorel could tell he wasn’t too upset by the notion. Bahorel practically shouted at that revelation.

“Lucky me.” Feuilly mumbled, grabbing the pillow from underneath Bahorel to throw dramatically over his eyes (Bahorel couldn’t see, but he’d actually done it to cover up a grin he couldn’t quite cinch).   

So Bahorel had been in relationships with his fair share of people. He had plenty of experience flirting, dating, fucking. He was good at that, at the simple ebb and flow in a trivial relationship between two people who acknowledge the fact that they are going nowhere together. Because it is universally known that if you’re willing to engage in a relationship after eighteen that isn’t with your soulmate, it’s all just for fun. Good, sexual fun. Very few people are stupid enough to let themselves get invested in a relationship that’s doomed to end once the other finds who they’re really supposed to be with. It’s fucked up, yes, that there is little choice for who you’re going to be with, but Bahorel had never been too upset about it. And over the years he had made the whole system work pretty well for him, a twenty year old guy with commitment issues.

So he had no fucking idea what to do now. He knew what he wanted to do. Bahorel could write you a twelve-paged essay about everything he _wanted_ to do with (to) Feuilly, but he didn’t know what was crossing the line. He didn’t even know if Feuilly changed his mind about being with him or if he was just being inordinately friendly now that he was well-rested.

“Don’t get attached to that guy.” Feuilly said through a mouthful of popcorn. They were sitting together, watching some movie that Bahorel hadn’t seen and when he told Feuilly this, the boy had gaped. It was apparently a travesty of his up-bringing. 

“Why not?”

“Do you tend to cry at movies?” Feuilly asked, still not taking his eyes off the screen. Bahorel nodded.

“More or less.” He answered. Feuilly turned to stare at him out of the corner of his eye and eventually Bahorel broke, “Okay, yeah, I cry at practically every movie. What’s your point?”

“Don’t get attached to him. That’s my point.” The prick said burrowing more into the couch cushions to get more comfortable. Bahorel turned back to the screen with furrowed brows because he’d already gotten attached. Neil was the only character so far he’d not wanted to punch in the face. He had a nice smile.

“Fuck, does he die?” Bahorel asked, shocked. Feuilly just smirked as Bahorel groaned loudly, “What the fuck? What kind of movie is this?”

“Well, it’s called _Dead Poet’s Society_. There had to be some dead poets past and present, to solidify the cyclical nature of the movie.” Feuilly argued, with that stupid smug look plastered across his face. Bahorel grumbled under his breath as he turned back to the TV, not really in the mood to watch a good kid die. So instead he watched Feuilly (out of the corner of his eyes, granted, he wasn’t a complete pervert). He watched the way he always fidgeted in his seat, never finding a position that seemed comfortable. He watched the way he bit at the fleshy part of his thumb when he was nervous. He watched the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled and how he laughed with his whole body, but when he laughed _really_ hard, no sound came out, like he was completely out of breath and literally couldn’t produce anymore sound. He also watched as he tucked his long legs up to his chest and rested his chin on his knees as his eyes welled up and he chewed incessantly on his bottom lip.

“Are you crying?” Bahorel asked, turning head towards Feuilly. Feuilly turned and glared at him as the credits started rolling and wrapped his arms around his legs.

“Of course I’m crying! That was a moving scene. You’re not crying?” he asked indignantly as he tried to discreetly wipe away his tears with his shirt sleeve. Bahorel laughed and shook his head.

“No, sorry. I was a little distracted.” He said truthfully, smiling wide at Feuilly who stared right back at him, brows furrowed and bottom lip trembling just slightly before he groaned and dropped his head back against his knees, “Oh, come on,” Bahorel said, only laughing slightly, “Don’t cry. Come on, don’t cry, Feuilly.” He said, grabbing Feuilly’s face gently in both his hands and lifting it up. Feuilly sniffed his nose a couple of times and wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“I hate you.” He muttered after a long moment, finally meeting his eyes. Bahorel just smiled wider and wiped away his tears with the pads of his thumb. Then he leaned in closer and closed his eyes and kissed Feuilly softly, pleasantly surprised when the boy didn’t pull back. He also didn’t return the kiss, which was really just a press of their lips together. He did however start to grin widely and when Bahorel opened his eyes to see what the fucker was up to, he saw Feuilly’s wide brown eyes staring right back at him before he moved in to kiss him harder.

“Well, that was unexpected.” Bahorel said, his voice gravelly, when they pulled away from each other for air, which Bahorel unfortunately knew they both needed. Feuilly just grinned at him and pushed him back to lay against the couch before straddling his waist.

“Then you’re really not going to expect what’s coming next.” He breathed, making Bahorel shiver slightly.

“What a line.”

“Shut up.” Feuilly growled before leaning in and claiming Bahorel’s lips again. Bahorel brought his hands up to Feuilly’s hips as he groaned into the kiss when Feuilly slipped his tongue into his mouth. Bahorel was a mess underneath Feuilly, groaning and thrusting his hips up as the other boy dragged his lips down Bahorel’s jaw and down his neck, sucking and biting bruises along his collarbone.

“Goddamn it, Feuilly.” Bahorel groaned and he felt Feuilly laugh softly against his neck. That made a flutter spread through his body. He loved making Feuilly laugh, as fucking cheesy as that sounds. It was this that had him remember what he came over to talk to Feuilly about, the realization that the boy needed to know that Bahorel wasn’t leaving, that he wanted to be with him more than he wanted anything else in his life. So, like the fucking idiot he was, he gripped Feuilly’s hips tighter and pushed him back.

“Feuilly, wait, stop.” Bahorel somehow managed to choke out, despite the fact that he finally had his fucking soulmate on top of him, grinding down like he was a fucking stripper.

“Why?” Feuilly asked, almost whining. Bahorel laughed and kissed him once more before pulling him off of his lap to sit next to him. Which wasn’t easy, being as Feuilly wasn’t a small guy. Yeah, he was considerably smaller than Bahorel, but that’s just because Bahorel was huge. He made everyone look small, so.

“We should talk before we… sex it up.”

“Oh my God. Well no worries there. We are never having sex now, you just ruined it for me forever.” Feuilly teased with an exasperated groan, but Bahorel could tell he was trying not to smile, so it gave him a little courage.

“We need to talk about us.” Feuilly stared at him like he was crazy, the smile drifting off his face, but Bahorel held firm, “Are we dating? Are we going to date? Or are you still shunning me for being your soulmate?” Feuilly looked like he was going to snap again, so Bahorel put his hand over his mouth, not particularly gently, “Let me talk. And by the way, what the fuck is with your mood swings? We’re going to have to talk about that too. But first, Joly told me how you feel, or… how you might feel and I just want to tell you that I’m not the kind of guy to just… leave. I want to be with you, Feuilly, in every sense of the word for everyday for the rest of my life. And believe it or not, I’m a pretty stubborn guy,” Feuilly rolled his eyes in an exaggerated motion at this, “And I’m not going anywhere, whether or not you want to date me. I’m going to be at your apartment every fucking Thursday to make you breakfast and you’re going to love me for it eventually. I’m very charming. You’ll see.” Feuilly was staring at him with wide eyes when Bahorel finished, waiting for him to reply. It took a moment, but Feuilly bit down hard on the hand currently impeding his mouth. “Ow! Fuck!”

“You know this won’t be easy,” he said seriously, more serious than Bahorel had ever seen him, “Like you said I have the mood swings and I get really needy and I’ll also probably push you away and be really mean to you sometimes and I work like ten jobs so I’m busy all the time and-”

“I don’t care, Feuilly. I mean, I do _care_. It’s just, none of that stuff is going to make me run screaming. Have you met my best friend? Jehan? You aren’t the first person I’ve dealt with who will push me away when you’re sad. You’re just going to have to promise me that you’ll trust me to take care of you when you need it. And I’ll have to trust you to be honest with me when you _need_ space. Don’t push me away just because, Feuilly. Please, you can’t do that to me.” Bahorel said earnestly as he grabbed Feuilly’s hand in his.

“You really wanna be with me?” Feuilly asked with a crooked grin.

“I really want to be with you.” Bahorel reassured, smiling widely back at him.

“Okay. I want to be with you too, I guess. Can we have sex now?” Bahorel laughed loudly and thanked the gods that he got such a fucking awesome soulmate.

“I _guess_ so.”     

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS ONE WAS SO MUCH FUN TO WRITE OMG! :D Anyway, I hope you guys liked it as much as i liked writing it!! thanks for reading!!!!!!!


	6. Courfeyrac and Jehan

“Okay, this is officially ridiculous.” Grantaire said as he took a long drink of his beer. Enjolras looked over and glared at him the whole way through.

“What’s ridiculous?” Enjolras asked, unamused.

“The soulmate thing! With Bahorel and Feuilly, that’s 5/6! How the hell does that happen, Apollo? Joly and Bossuet meet and our groups suddenly _just happen_ to consist of each other’s soulmates?” Enjolras just shrugged.

“Lucky coincidence?” Grantaire raised an eyebrow, “Anyway, technically we met first. You just don’t remember that, sweetie.” Enjolras teased, making Grantaire glare.

“I remember _some_ of it.” He grumbled as Combeferre walked into the apartment, “Whatever, hey, we should lock Courfeyrac and Jehan up in a room and see if that works out. Then we’d be 6/6.”

“I’m working on that.” Combeferre said enigmatically. Grantaire was about to demand what he meant exactly by that, but he turned and started talking to Enjolras about student fees or something like that the group was currently protesting, so Grantaire effectively turned back to the TV and tuned them out.

“Hey, is Jehan ever going to actually come to a meeting?” Combeferre asked suddenly, pulling Grantaire out of his focus on _Parks and Recreation._

“I don’t know. I hope so.” Grantaire said with a shrug. He turned more towards them, putting his arm around Enjolras’ shoulders as he did, the blonde tucking himself further into Grantaire’s side with a hum of contentment that made Grantaire smile.

“Me too. Again, I think him and Courfeyrac would get along.” Combeferre said, his voice betraying something suspicious.

“What are you planning?” Grantaire asked excitedly. He may or may not have gotten a rush from bringing Marius and Cosette together and seeing that work out so splendidly. He was not going to turn away the chance of doing that again. Especially for Jehan. And for Courfeyrac. Damn, it would be so perfect if Courf could be with Jehan. As Grantaire thought about it, he knew the two of them would be perfect together, actually. Courf was exactly what Jehan needed. And Grantaire didn’t know Courfeyrac all that well, but something told him Jehan’s particular brand of affection and realism would be good for him, too.

“I’ll let you know when I figure it out. We may not even need a plan. Something tells me things are going to work themselves out with that.” Combeferre answered as he fiddled with his phone, probably texting Eponine.

“You worry me sometimes, Combeferre.”

###

Courfeyrac loved Enjolras. He really did. Ever since the ninth grade, Courf, Combeferre, and Enjolras had been practically inseparable. They were like the Mean Girls, but without the introduction of that bitch Cady who broke everything up. Now, in that situation, most people would be certain that it would be Enjolras as Regina, Combeferre as Gretchen, and Courf as Karen, but that wasn’t right. No, Courfeyrac was Regina, Combeferre was still Gretchen (obviously, that one is really easy), and Enjolras was Karen. Not that that has any relevance to the story, Courf just wanted to make that known. He is not Karen. Enjolras is Karen.

Anyway, Courfeyrac loved Enjolras. But the tricky thing about being friends with Enjolras was that, if you have a mind like Courfeyrac (who has been on Adderall for ADD since he was eleven) then you tend to go through existential crises about every two months. Because being friends with Enjolras opens your eyes to the fact that _you don’t do anything or contribute anything to society_. Enjolras would never purposefully make Courfeyrac feel like that, but the boy did fucking _everything_. He helped Eponine at Gavroche and Emilie’s (Enjolras’ little sister) elementary school, he volunteered at the pound and the soup kitchen on weekends, he had an electronic program enabled to give a portion of his bank account to charity twice a month, he was working towards his degree in political science and interning at their senator’s office (and he’s only a FRESHMAN IN COLLEGE) while simultaneously running an activist group, maintaining a relationship with a really hot guy, and mastering the art of the blow job apparently.

So, in order for Courfeyrac to maintain some sense of personal pride, he had to find things to do as well. He volunteered with Enjolras at the soup kitchen when he could, but going to the pound made him too sad, so he didn’t do that one. He did however, twice a week, visit the old people’s home about an hour outside the city and visit with the patients there. That was his favorite thing to do, because old people are really interesting. And they also really love Courfeyrac. He loved them all and tried to visit everyone every time he went, but Ellie was his favorite. Well, her name was actually Elizabeth, but Courf wanted to give her a nickname and it was either Ellie of Buffy, and for whatever reason, she grinned widely when he proposed Ellie. So that was what he called her. She always baked him brownies and told him stories about how she fell in love three times in France and one of them was supposedly some sort of ruler in Spain? She never really clarified that one, despite his protestations. She was also completely deaf, so about a year ago, when he started volunteering where she lived, he made it his goal to learn sign language. He actually did, with the help of Marius. It was really fucking hard, but the smile on Ellie’s face the week he showed her was completely worth it. And he had visited Ellie at the home every week that entire year, until she got sick. Then Courf visited her once every week at the hospital downtown.

_Hello, Ellie! How are you feeling today?_ Courfeyrac signed after he pulled up one of the comfy chairs and sat down in it crisscross-applesauce. Ellie smiled widely and tried to sit up a little higher in her bed.

_Courfeyrac! I wasn’t sure you were coming this week. You’re usually here on Tuesdays._

_Yeah, sorry about that. I had school work that needed doing. And Enjolras is planning a rally soon. So that’s monopolizing more time than I am usually willing to give._ Ellie nodded understandingly. Courfeyrac had told her all about his best friends. They’d even come up with their own signs for their names, so they wouldn’t have to sign every letter of their unusually long names _every_ time.

_Well, I’m glad you’re here. My grandson might come to visit later this afternoon. I told you about him, didn’t I?_ Courfeyrac nodded and tried not to roll his eyes. Ellie had told Courf about her grandson Jean at least twenty times. Maybe even fifty. She was convinced they would be _perfect_ for each other. And he did sound great, but everyone sounded great when Ellie talked about them. She had a very optimistic view of the world.

_Yeah, a couple times. Maybe I’ll stick around and meet him. But first-_ Courf was going to pull out the poetry book he had brought for her, the one he’d borrowed from Grantaire, but he was but off when her door swung open and Ellie’s doctor walked in.

“Oh, hello Courfeyrac. How are you today?” Doctor Simplice asked as she walked to Ellie’s bedside.

“I’m good, ma’am, how are you?”

“I’m well, Courf, thank you for asking. And how are you Ellie?” she asked. Ellie could read lips, Courf knew that, he also knew she didn’t prefer it.

_I’m alive._ Ellie signed back with a silent laugh. Courf smiled at her but felt his chest tighten at the thoughts that incurred. No matter how much she may tell Courf he makes her feel twenty years younger, she’s still sick and weak. It made Courfeyrac’s heart ache.

“Courf, would you mind giving us a little privacy? You can come back in a little bit. Maybe go get some lunch?” Doctor Simplice said kindly. Courfeyrac nodded reluctantly and stood up, leaving the book on Ellie’s nightstand. He waved goodbye as he walked out the door and closed it softly behind him. He sighed deeply and then set off to find the cafeteria. They always had Jell-O. That would make him feel better.

###

“Hello Jehan!” the receptionist said in greeting as Jehan walked up to the front desk. Jehan smiled widely at her, feeling bad he couldn’t remember her name. He’d been pretty off the last couple of times he came to visit, so he didn’t remember her much. 

“Hello, lovely. How are you today?” he asked, resting his forearms on the high desk and resting his chin on top of them. The receptionist blushed and smiled wider.

“Better now that you’re here,” she teased, “Elizabeth is still in with the doctor now, but you can go back in about a half an hour.” Jehan nodded at her and stood up straight.

“I guess I’ll go get some lunch now, then. Would you like anything?” she shook her head and Jehan shrugged as he walked away towards the elevators. He hated that he knew where the cafeteria here was, hated that he knew what day of the week they served what foods. He’d always despised hospitals, avoided them as often as he could. Seeing the broken, sick people and their sad families always sent him on a spiral down. When he got the call that his grandma needed to be hospitalized, he’d felt like someone had dropped a weight on his chest. Ellie had always been a ray of light in Jehan’s life. When he thought about her he imagined fanciful tales of France and the smell of hot cocoa and the warmth of a fireplace and cuddling. None of those things exactly thrive in a sterile hospital environment.

He walked quickly towards the cafeteria, not wanting to dwell on the sad, pale pink of the walls or the murmur of people as we walked past. It was all a recipe for mental disaster. He took a deep breath as he pushed the cafeteria doors open and walked straight towards the dessert line. Jell-O would help. Jell-O always helped. Right in front of him in line was a curly-haired boy, nodding his head slightly to the music that only he could hear in his headphones. Jehan couldn’t help smile at his happiness. It was practically infectious and he hadn’t even said anything yet. They finally got to the Jell-O and both the boy and Jehan went to grab for the last cherry flavor. Their hands met on the edge of the bowl and Jehan looked to the boy just as he looked over at him. Jehan laughed and the boy grinned wide, the grin falling easily in to place on his face. He was adorable and Jehan felt his heart flutter when the boy waved his hand dramatically to let Jehan know he could take the red one. Jehan tried not to blush as he grabbed it and the boy took an orange one, still staring at Jehan as he moved down the line. After they paid, Jehan walked to sit down at his usual table by the window, looking out at the city. He pulled out his notebook, expecting to just sit and write until he could go back to see Grandma Ellie. However, seconds after he got settled, he heard the scrape of a chair being pulled out across from him. The boy slid into the seat and smiled widely at Jehan’s gaping face and took a big bite of his Jell-O, still smiling at Jehan as he chewed.

“You’re not supposed to chew Jello-O.” Jehan muttered as he looked back down to his page, deciding that if the boy wasn’t going to be polite and say hello than neither would he. The boy tugged a headphone out and looked at him quizzically.

“Hmm?” Jehan just shook his head and smiled again, not saying anything, just looking back down at his pages and scribbling nonsense words in Italian. About five minutes or so later, he felt the boy’s foot resting against his own. He froze in his writing and looked up at the boy who was sprawled out in his seat and looking at his phone. Well, no, he had his phone in front of him, but he was staring at Jehan over the edge of it with a smirk on his face. Well, again, no, on anyone else it would be a smirk. On this boy it was too endearing to be a smirk. Smirk implies bad intentions and Jehan was pretty sure this guy had no capacity for bad intentions for anyone, ever. Jehan raised in an eyebrow, drawing on his inner-Grantaire, in his best attempt to appear unimpressed when really he wanted to grin. The boy just looked down at his phone and shifted his expression to one that was just a little too innocent as he leaned forward, pushing their knees together as he downed the rest of his water bottle. He tugged his ear-buds out and pushed himself out of his chair to throw the bottle away and Jehan found himself already feeling the absence of heat he left behind.

“Don’t put it in the wrong hole.” Jehan told him as the boy walked over to the trash can that doubled as a recycling bin. He turned around slowly and stared at Jehan incredulously, “I just… sometimes I accidently put my recycling in the regular trash and… why are you staring at me like that?” he asked, startled, as a slow smile spread across the boy’s face. He dropped the bottle in the recycling behind him without looking away from Jehan and then he slowly walked back to sit across from him again. Jehan waited for him to explain, but he just stared at him with those wide hazel eyes, mouth opening and closing as he thought. He chewed on his lip and leaned a little closer to Jehan, so the poet could clearly see the swirls of green in his eyes and the sprinkling of freckles on his nose and cheekbones. After a long moment he shook his head definitively and then sat up straighter and smiled widely again.

_Do you know sign language?_ Jehan read his hands and narrowed his eyes in confusion.

_Yeah,_ he signed back slowly, _you’re not deaf, though._

_Oh no, I’m just… practicing._ He signed after a long moment of consideration. Jehan raised his eyebrows suspiciously but nodded his head.

_Okay. Whatever you say._

_What’s your name?_ Jehan smiled and grabbed his notebook, not wanting to sign every letter of his name, so he scribbled out: _Jean Prouvaire, but call me Jehan, when you decide to say words_.  The boy laughed and held out a questioning hand to take the pen. Jehan handed it to him and waited to see what he would write. _Are you by any chance the Jehan who Grantaire and Combeferre and Eponine never stop talking about?_ He wrote sloppily. Jehan laughed out loud. _Oh you know-_   

“Wait,” Jehan said out loud as he realized something, knowing the boy could understand him even if he refused to talk, “Are you _Courfeyrac_ by any chance?” the boy, Courfeyrac, nodded emphatically and touched his finger to his nose in affirmation.

_That’s me._ He signed out and then took a second to think, _You said call you Jehan, but your name is Jean? Are you Ellie’s grandson, too?_ Jehan opened his eyes wide and then groaned.

“Oh my God, you’re the cute volunteer she’s been telling me about for months aren’t you?” he asked with a laugh. Courfeyrac nodded again and was practically bouncing in his seat at this point, “Shit, small world, huh?”

_Tell me about it._ Courfeyrac signed, looking like the cat who got the cream. Jehan smiled and tentatively reached for Courfeyrac’s arm, which was bare as he’d rolled his flannel up to his elbows. Courf sat up straighter and let Jehan take his arm, shifting to the side slightly and grabbing the pen from his hand. He started writing on his arm, getting out the poetry that was bouncing around in his head. _We might be fifty, we might be five, So snug, so compact, so wise are we! Under the kitchen-table leg, My knee is pressing against his knee_. Once he’d finished writing he blew gently on the skin to try and dry the ink before looking at Courf triumphantly. It looked perfect.

“Katherine Mansfield.” Jehan said to Courfeyrac’s smiling face, “She’s one of my favorites though. _Loneliness_ still gives me chills. _Now it is Loneliness who comes at night Instead of Sleep, to sit beside my bed. Like a tired child I lie and wait her tread, I watch her softly blowing out the light. Motionless sitting, neither left or right She turns, and weary, weary droops her head. She, too, is old; she, too, has fought the fight. So, with the laurel she is garlanded._ ” Jehan stopped himself, knowing he was rambling, and looked down, blushing.

“You don’t wanna hear that. Sorry.” He amended, reaching up and toying with the edge of his braid. Courf shook his head and grabbed the pen. _I really don’t mind._ He scribbled and then looked up to make sure Jehan was reading. _Are you okay?_ He wrote and Jehan looked up at him, confused.

“What do you mean?” Jehan asked. Courfeyrac looked down at the page and lifted his hand to write before changing his mind. He looked up at Jehan shyly and smiled almost sadly.

_You don’t seem… happy._ Courfeyrac signed slowly and Jehan’s stomach dropped. He shook his head and looked anywhere but at Courf. After a moment, he felt Courf put his hand over his on the table. Jehan looked up at him, startled at the conference.

“I really want to make you happy.” Courfeyrac said sincerely and Jehan shot up out of his chair. Courfeyrac stood up with him, startled, “Did I say something wrong?” Jehan shook his head and made a sound that probably sounded something like a whine and practically sprinted from the room. He heard Courfeyrac’s chair fall backwards as he moved to come after him, but he didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. He needed air. He pushed open the side door and moved directly to a bench, sitting down and putting his head between his knees, feeling his grip on reality slowly slipping.

###

An anxiety attack. Courfeyrac was ninety-nine percent sure he’d given Jehan an anxiety attack. He only knew that because Enjolras used to get them all the time in high school, when no one else was around and he was studying or complaining with him and Combeferre. So Courfeyrac had a vague idea of how to deal with this situation. He followed Jehan out of the building and watched him collapse onto a bench and try to catch his breath. Courfeyrac didn’t hesitate before moving to sit down on the bench next to him, as close as he dared. He just sat there, resting his elbows on his knees, waiting for Jehan to get control of his breathing. He would put a comforting hand on his back, but he wasn’t sure if his presence would make it worse or not. He did trigger it after all, much to his chagrin. So he just sat there and waited, watching the cars pull in and out of the parking lot, listening to Jehan’s rapid breathing and wishing there was something he could do. He always felt relatively helpless when this happened before. It was actually all Combeferre who helped during. Of course, Courfeyrac was always there after, with hugs and kind words, but during the actual thing he never knew what was pushing _too_ hard.

“I’m sorry if I … said something wrong.” Courfeyrac tried once it sounded like Jehan had calmed down a little. Jehan looked up at him with a gasp, shaking his head emphatically.

“Oh, no, no, no, no, no, _no_ , Courfeyrac this is so not your fault. _Please_ don’t think that this is your fault. It’s just… it’s…” Jehan sighed loudly and leaned in, taking Courfeyrac’s face in his hands and startling Courfeyrac by kissing him sweetly, once on the lips, once on each cheek and then once on the forehead and the once more on the lips. He stared at him for another long second, still holding Courfeyrac’s face in his hands. “I am depressed. And I have severe anxiety disorder. And … I have intense mood swings and I’m… triggered by anything and everything and I have to fight that every day, Courfeyrac and I’ve come to terms with that but it is so _hard_ , Courf. It’s so _fucking_ hard to deal with my anxiety and not knowing whether or not I’m going to have the energy to do _anything_ ever again. Sometimes I don’t even know how I get myself out of bed in the morning and that is _so damn hard_ just for _me_ , Courfeyrac, I can’t even _imagine_ what it would do to someone else, someone who loved me… someone… someone like you. And I’ve spent the last year practically, watching my best friends find their soulmates and fall in love and you know, find their other halves and all that good shit and… I’m happy for them, I am. But I watched them find the loves of their life, I watched them _complete_ each other and I just thought… I can’t have that right now… I am so not ready for that. Courfeyrac, I’m… how do I say this. I’m not your whole half yet. I’m like, 75% of the half of us, the half that we need to complete you and Courf, I’m sorry but I can’t complete you yet because… because I haven’t even completed me.

“And God, I hoped and I prayed that I wouldn’t meet you, that somehow I could delay finding you until I … became that whole half, because shit fucking shit, you deserve a whole soulmate, Courfeyrac. And I know, _I know_ , I fucking know that there are only a finite number of reasonable outcomes to this situation. Either, I push you away because I am not ready for you and you turn to someone else, some other adorable, beautiful, sweet, lovely person who is like you and had an _idiot_ for a soulmate and you fall in love with them and I’m left alone. Or. Or or or, I … I make you wait, like an asshole, which is horrible, I can’t do that to you. I mean, you deserve for your soulmate to be ready but… I’m not ready. I’m… I’m cookie dough, Courf. I am cookie dough and I just need to keep … baking for a little longer so that I can figure out who the hell I am going to be. Because… goddamn it, Courf I can’t keep being this person. This mess of a person who breaks so easily. I can’t keep being the person who cancels on friends three times in one week because all they can do is sleep and I … I just can’t live the rest of my life like this and…” Jehan choked out a sob, the rambling finally catching up with him. The noise also jolted Courfeyrac, who had been previously too caught up in what Jehan was saying to notice that he was slowly crumbling.

“Hey, hey, I’ve got you.” Courfeyrac muttered as Jehan slumped forwards into Courfeyrac’s arms, wrapping his arms around his waist and crying into his shoulder, “Don’t cry, gorgeous.” Courf said with a small smile, lifting up Jehan’s head so he could wipe away his tears with the pads of his thumbs. Jehan flushed a little and hiccupped softly, looking down at his hands which he’d dropped from Courf’s neck to rest bundled tightly in his lap, “Look at me, please? Jehan? Please, love, look at me.” Jehan met his eyes reluctantly and Courf rested his forehead against Jehan’s, turning in his seat so he could sit crisscross, facing him.

“I’m sorry, Courfeyrac.”

“Hold on, Jehan, no. Don’t be sorry,” Courf reassured, but Jehan still looked painfully sad, “Hey, let me tell you a story. Can I tell you a story?” Jehan nodded skeptically. “So, I met Combeferre when I was about seven. We didn’t go to school together, because I didn’t enroll in the boarding school until ninth grade, but we both lived in San Diego. There was this summer camp thing at this women’s house in La Jolla. Her house was huge, like almost-as-big-as-Enjolras’ huge, so a lot of the parents in the neighborhood or friends of people in the neighborhood, in my case, dropped their kids off so they would have the summer days free. Combeferre wasn’t exactly… well liked. He was shy and a little awkward and most importantly a fucking know-it-all. Drove the kids _nuts_ , so no one really wanted to hang around him. But, one day, he was sitting all alone, just staring up at the woman’s giant fish tank, and I felt really bad for him. So, I decided to go over and talk to him.

“Remember, though. I was like seven. All seven-year-old boys are accidental assholes. So, I thought if I was going over there and gracing this kid with my friendship, I would at least get under the guy’s skin a little. I walked up to him and said _did you know that fish drink air?_ He looked at me like I was the dumbest thing he’d ever seen, and he told me as much too. But I didn’t give up. _No, I swear_ , I told him, _we drink water and breathe air and they breathe water and drink air_. And then I walked away, leaving a gaping Combeferre behind me. Then, the next day of camp Combeferre ran up to me first thing with about six pages of printed articles proving me wrong about the fish thing. He reasoned with me for about twenty minutes before I shrugged, told him he was still wrong because _I have a goldfish named Tommy and I watched him swim to the top of the water and stick his face out and go,”_ Courfeyrac opened and closed his mouth widely, making his lips pop in imitation, drawing a small laugh from Jehan, “ _so I’ve seen it happen. I know the truth, ‘Ferre._ And then I grabbed his hand and tugged him off to play tether ball with me. I think it took about two more hours of forced play for him to stop arguing about the damn fish. But it was what started our friendship, and it was also what kept him coming back to me, consistently trying every fucking day to get me to admit I was wrong. Which I never did, of course. I _still_ to this day insist that fish drink air. It pisses him off so much.” Courfeyrac said with a laugh, “The point is, Jehan, I’ve always been a stubborn little bastard. I don’t give up on people. And I’m _not_ going to go find someone else and you asking me to wait does not make you an asshole, Jehan. It doesn’t.” Courfeyrac insisted sweetly. Jehan shook his head again.

“No, I’m sorry, Courfeyrac-”

“There’s another thing. Jehan, I want it to be clear that whenever you decide that you’re ready for this, for us, I want you to rest assured that this is one thing in your life that will be easy, _simple_. The last thing in the world I want to be is something for you to be sorry for, that you worry about. All I want to do is make you happy. And I will keep feeling that way if you ask me to wait an hour, a day, fifty days, fifty years, Jehan, I don’t fucking care. I will be there whenever you need me.” Jehan stared at Courfeyrac for a long moment after that, tears welling up in his eyes once again. He raised one hand to Courf’s cheek and then slid it down his neck slowly. He got to the top button of Courf’s flannel and then slowly started undoing it. He got to about the third button down and then pulled the fabric back to stare at the tattoo spread across his collarbone. Jehan felt himself laugh softly as he traced his fingers over his writing. _Don’t put it in the wrong hole_.

“Yeah. For a while there I was certain I was going to meet my soulmate at an orgy or something. Which was discouraging because orgies aren’t really my thing. Also, where do you even sign up for an orgy? Or is it an invite only thing? I have no idea-” Courfeyrac was cut-off mid-rant by Jehan sealing their lips together forcefully. Jehan tugged on his collar, pulling them closer together. The kiss was perfect, soft and searching but half-way through Courfeyrac felt tears prick behind his eyes because he could feel it. Despite the fluttering feeling that Jehan’s skilled tongue sent through his body and the warmth that he felt holding his soulmate so close, he knew deep down that this kiss was one saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this wasn't where i thought this was going to go when i started writing it, i should say that... i really thought this chapter would be the longest because of how much i LOVE JEHAN but their story isn't over just yet :)
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKED IT THANKS FOR READING :D only one more chapter holy moly i can't believe i let this get so long haha


	7. Musichetta

Jehan was bouncing on his toes and checking his phone every five seconds to see if the time had changed. It was still 12:04. Joly and Bossuet’s flight was supposed to land fifteen minutes ago and still, nothing!

“Fuck that boy’s luck.” Jehan mumbled, plopping down on a bench across from baggage claim. He’d been in Greece for over a month now and he missed his friends terribly. He missed all of them, Joly and Bossuet, Grantaire, Bahorel, Marius and Cosette, Eponine, Combeferre and Enjolras, Feuilly and _Courfeyrac_. Yes he missed Courf. He hadn’t seen him in weeks. He’d told his friends when he left that he needed time alone, that they shouldn’t call him or Skype him or anything. He needed space. He knew it had broken both of their hearts, but it needed to be done. But now he had friends coming! FRIENDS! He was so fucking excited it was ridiculous. Greece was amazing, don’t get him wrong, but he missed home. And they say ‘home is where the heart is’ and well, Jehan’s friends had always been his heart.

“Jehan?” he looked up at the voice and leaped up. It was hard to miss Joly and Bossuet; they made a beautifully odd pair, with Bossuet’s dark skin and bald head and Joly’s pale skin and light brown shaggy mop of hair. They ran over to Jehan and attacked him with a simultaneous hug that almost knocked the breath out of him, but was exactly what he needed.

“Holy shit, I missed you!” Bossuet breathed into the top of his head. Both of them were notably taller than him, their chins resting comfortably on the crown of his head.

“I missed you, too, ‘Suet. Both of you! I’m so fucking glad you’re here. You have no idea.” Jehan said with a wide smile, “Come on, let’s get your bags and I’ll take you to my place.”

The thing about Joly and Bossuet is that they were both achingly adorable. Like so in-sync it made Jehan want to spit and write ten pages of poetry at the same time. It also made him miss Courfeyrac like he never thought would be possible. It wasn’t all the time. It was just when they weren’t focused on him, and they couldn’t be focused on him the _entire_ time. That was an unreasonable thing to ask. Still, watching the two of them whisper to each other and hold hands tightly and kiss sweetly made Jehan’s eyes water. The two of them were nice enough not to say anything about it, until the third night of their vacation.

“He misses you, you know.” Bossuet said quietly. The three of them were laying out on the beach and after spending forty-five minutes letting his sunscreen settle, Joly had drifted to sleep with his head in Bossuet’s lap.

“Grantaire?” Jehan asked facetiously. Bossuet rolled his eyes.

“Well, yes, but no. You know who I mean.”

“Yes, I do. And I don’t really want to talk about it, Bossuet.” Jehan whispered in a tone that didn’t really leave room for argument. Bossuet just nodded and laid back down.

“Well, when you do, I’m here, Jehan. I hope you know that.” Jehan nodded but didn’t look over at them. He couldn’t. Instead, he sat up and crossed his legs and stared out at the ocean. He undid his braid and ran him fingers through his hair a few times, which had gotten so much lighter it was practically strawberry blonde now

Truth was, he did want to talk about Courfeyrac. Specifically he wanted to talk _to_ Courfeyrac, but he didn’t know what to say. He thought he was better. He’d come to Greece almost two months previous and moved into the apartment his parents owned there. He had managed to find a job at a café close to his place, he read more, he made a few new friends, he went on walks through the city and rode his bike more often and he honestly felt better about himself. There was also a workshop for his poetry that he had been accepted in to back home that he was excited about and he had been talking seriously with Eponine about going through the liberal arts program together, to become teachers. For the first time in years, Jehan felt like he had a semblance of control over his life. He wasn’t fixed, per se. he knew it was never going to be one hundred percent better but… how does someone _know_ when they’re ready? He didn’t want to keep Courfeyrac waiting any longer than he already had, for fear of losing him, but he just didn’t know.

“Hey, Jehan. I’m starving. You know any good food places around here?” Bossuet asked, gathering their stuff up and putting it in their backpack. Jehan nodded and stood up with them.

“Yeah, the café I work at isn’t too far from here. I’ve been meaning to take you guys there.” They walked together, chatting amicably until they came up to the café.

“Here it is.” Jehan said, reaching to open the door for the two of them. Joly went in first and then Bossuet followed and he immediately stubbed his foot against the doorstop, stumbling forwards and knocking both him and Joly down and straight into the waitress that was passing in front of them. They landed with Joly on top of the woman and Bossuet sprawled out next to them, the entire contents of his backpack everywhere around them. The boys groaned simultaneously and then Joly looked down at the woman he was currently straddling and hopped up with a squeak.

“Oh, my.” he said, flustered as he reached his hand down to help her up. The woman smiled widely, making Joly flush red. She was stunning, just a little taller than Joly but no taller than Bossuet. Her curly black hair was tugged up into a wild ponytail and her blue eyes were shining with life. Jehan remembered her vaguely, but he didn’t think they had ever worked a shift together. He thought her name was Musichetta, but he wasn’t exactly sure. He was surprised he couldn’t remember though, because Jehan was gay, yeah, but he was still was seriously impressed by the woman’s sinful curves.

“ _That was bad_.” Bossuet complained as he gathered his stuff and then sat up straight.

“θα πρέπει πραγματικά να είναι πιο προσεκτικοί, αγάπη.” She said to both of them, reaching out a hand to help Bossuet off of the ground. All three of them kept picking up Bossuet’s things for a moment or two longer and then simultaneously they all gasped and looked in between the three of them. A slow smile spread of Musichetta’s face that was mirrored in the boys’.

“Ayyyyyyyy!” Bossuet started, quickly echoed by both Joly and Musichetta. She spread her arms out wide for a hug and Joly and Bossuet practically tackled her with one. Jehan laughed softly, standing a few feet away from the trio.

“Θέε μου.” she muttered, “It’s both of you? Together? I guess I’m a little late to the party.”

“You speak English?” Joly asked startled.

“A lot of people speak English, darling. And I got even better at it once I saw that both of my soulmates would speak it.” she said happily, only the slightest hint of an accent. Bossuet’s eyebrows knit together.

“Should we have done that?”

“I told you to do that.” Jehan told him, moving past them to grab a table for them by the window. Bossuet grumbled apologies but Musichetta just laughed.

“Don’t worry about it. I don’t mind English.”

“So what time do you get off?” Joly asked eagerly as he sat down across from Jehan and grabbed Bossuet’s hand, “Can you sit with us?” Musichetta smiled shyly.

“I could just quit.” She whispered and Joly looked up at her, a little confused.

“Do you not like working here?” he asked sincerely, a matching expression on Bossuet’s face as they looked up at her, eerily resembling two puppies. Jehan wanted to groan at how adorably clueless they were.

“Well, why would she stay at her job in Greece if she’s found her not-Greek soulmates?” Jehan offered. Musichetta coughed and looked down nervously. Jehan didn’t like nervousness on her; it didn’t look like it belonged, so he glared at Bossuet and Joly’s stupid gaping faces until they said something to fix it.

“Oh! Of course, yes, fuck, quit! You have to come back with us! If you’re sure you’re okay with leaving?” Bossuet said loudly before turning to Joly, “Why in all of our planning did we not consider the fact that we might be bringing a third person back with us?” Joly just shook his head and shrugged.

“Hopefully Musichetta will bring some common sense into your little trio.” Jehan teased with a snort of laughter.

“Musichetta?” Joly asked sweetly.

“That’s my name.” she replied, pulling out the chair next to Jehan and sliding into it, “You’re Jehan, right? You work nights?” Jehan nodded and smiled.

“And that’s Joly and that’s Bossuet.” He introduced, soaking up the expression on the woman’s face when she mumbled the names herself and smiled brightly.

“And when and how did you two meet?”

The conversation from there was centered pretty obviously around the three of them. Jehan couldn’t blame them. For god’s sake, they’d just found each other and all three of them could seemingly talk for hours at a time just by themselves. Jehan knew they had a lot to cover and, surprisingly, he was happy to sit and listen to them. They had a fascinating dynamic, one in which all of them were in their own way _equal_. The boys had only just met Musichetta and already it was like she had been with them forever, no one person favoring anyone over the other. It was so natural. So, of course, Jehan thought back to that day in the cafeteria, getting along with Courf before they had even said words to each other, how captivated Jehan had been just when he was talking, how endearing the expressions he made when he spoke were. Watching Joly and Bossuet and Musichetta, Jehan was able to see how ready for that he was now. The realization wasn’t startling or upsetting either. It didn’t come in with alarms blaring or a big fanfare. No, it came in between a Cobb salad and a strawberry cheesecake and it settled into Jehan with a certainty that made him grin the entire walk home. It was also what made him pack the meager amount of stuff he had brought with him in his duffel bag and walk into the guest room and give his friends his keys and tell them where he was going.

“I’ve got to see him, ‘Suet.” Jehan whispered once Bossuet and wrapped him in a bear hug immediately after he told him he was going home.

“I know. I love you, kiddo.” Bossuet said once he’d pulled back. He playfully punched Jehan’s chin and pointed towards the door. “Now get outta here. I’ll see you in a week or so.”

###

“Enjolras, will you please stop going off about this? I told you, it isn’t a big deal.” Grantaire insisted with a tired sigh. The four of them, Enjolras, Grantaire, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac were hanging out, the former two at the dining room table, bickering about some art gallery R had been invited to put some work in loud enough that Courfeyrac and Combeferre could hear them over the TV. Courfeyrac turned around on the couch to glare at the two of them, Enjolras standing over Grantaire who was sitting down.

“Argue quietly please.” He snapped making Enjolras glare right back at him before sitting in front of Grantaire and leaning in close to continue their conversation in hushed voices that Courf couldn’t understand. He turned back around and huffed, trying and failing not to be annoyed. He knew he was being irrational, that notion solidified by the look that Combeferre gave him out of the corner of his eye that Courf decided to pointedly ignore. Enjolras and Grantaire had just been pissing him off to no end lately. They always argued, like always. And as much as Courfeyrac loved his friends, he was … jealous, okay? He was so fucking jealous he was vibrating with it because those two assholes got to be with their soulmate every fucking day (because out of all of them they were undeniably the two most co-dependent, matched only by Joly and Bossuet by how much they were together) and they bickered sixty percent of the time. Why couldn’t they be good to each other? They had their soulmates, what was stopping them from being happy? Courfeyrac would give anything to be in their position, to be able to-

No. No, he said he wouldn’t do this. It would only lead to fostering bitter feelings that he knew very well he had no right to direct towards Jehan. He also really didn’t want to be mad, let alone at Jehan. He just missed the boy so fucking much, he didn’t know what to do with himself. It had felt like a punch to the stomach when he had told him he was leaving. Part of Courf knew it was inevitable. Based off of what Jehan had told him, he knew he would have to wait, wouldn’t be able to be with him immediately, but he didn’t know being around him was so bad it would push the boy off the fucking continent. It made him want to curl up in the fetal position and cry, but he wouldn’t do that. Well, he wouldn’t do that more than once. He had already spent a night with Enjolras and Combeferre talking about it all and eventually crying himself to sleep in their arms. The next morning he had felt so guilty for taking Jehan leaving personally (which was obviously the opposite of what Jehan had wanted from him) that he resolved to not let it make him sad anymore. He was going to do everything he could to be the same person he had always been.

It was harder than he thought it would be.  

“Well damn it, Grantaire, that’s bullshit!” Enjolras practically yelled, anger stopping his whispered conversation with Grantaire.

“Oh my _God_ , shut the fuck up! You guys are _insufferable_! How come the only thing you’re capable of doing together is arguing?” Courfeyrac snapped again. He turned around and saw Enjolras and Grantaire gaping at him, but they were sitting close together, their knees touching and their hands gently tangled together on top of their legs. Courfeyrac’s eyes landed on their hands, fingers entwined lightly and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him. He was an asshole. He was the worst asshole ever because he was letting his hurt feelings hurt the people around him. Enjolras’ hand tightened around Grantaire’s and he shot up out of his seat, tugging R with him.

“Well, if we’re such a burden, we’ll get out of your hair.” His words were biting towards Courfeyrac but he looked down at Grantaire with soft eyes, “Come on, love. Let’s find somewhere to be alone.” Grantaire got up slowly, not looking away from Enjolras as they walked to the door hand in hand, arms twined together as well. They were so fucking good together. Courfeyrac felt like groaning, hating himself for yelling, especially since he knew that their arguing was Enjolras’ main insecurity in their relationship. He had often told Courfeyrac that it was what scared him most, that he was afraid it was his fault and that one day he would push Grantaire too far and he wouldn’t come back to him. Courfeyrac was a mega-douche.

“There something you wanna talk about?” Combeferre asked after Enjolras had left, slamming the front door shut behind him. Courfeyrac huffed and slumped down in his seat.

“I should have stopped them.” He mumbled angrily to himself.

“Yes.”

“I’m a jerk.”

“No.”

“I was a jerk.”

“Yes.”

“I miss Jehan.”

“Yes. I know, Courf.” Combeferre said sadly, moving over slightly and wrapping his arm around Courfeyrac’s shoulder. Courf took the opportunity and cuddled up to his best friend’s side.

“I don’t wanna feel like this. I want to be supportive and a good guy and wait for him like he asked but it’s so hard, Combeferre! I just wanna make him happy. I just want to be with him. Is that too much to ask?” Courfeyrac complained petulantly, not holding anything back. Combeferre was the one person in the world that Courf knew would never judge him for what he felt, would never make him feel like he was doing something wrong just by feeling something. Mostly because Combeferre knew that Courfeyrac had _a lot_ of fucking feelings, like too many to contain.

“He told you that it is, right now. And you’re entirely entitled to these feelings, Courf. Of course you miss him. Do you think I didn’t miss Eponine those first months? It’s hell being away from your soulmate. You’re going to feel that way, undeniably. That doesn’t make you any less of a good person.” Combeferre kissed the top of Courfeyrac’s head sweetly. “Do you believe me?”

“I guess.” Courfeyrac muttered.

“Well, I suppose that’s good enough. As long as you promise to stop beating yourself up about it. Because as much as they love you, our friends don’t deserve to suffer because you’re upset.” Combeferre reasoned softly, making Courfeyrac groan.

“ _Yes_ , I know. I’ll apologize. And by them Red Bull and vodka. Enjolras loves Red Bull.”

“Yeah, that boy drinks way too much caffeine,” Combeferre said fondly, “Wanna watch season seven of _Friends_?” Combeferre asked. Courfeyrac grinned and nodded.

“You know me too well.”

###

Jehan hated flying. He hated the confined spaces, and the lack of mobility, and the bad food, and the loud people, and those stupid air conditioning things that blew an uncomfortably concentrated force of cold air on you and didn’t do anything. He hated it. Usually he took a sleeping pill the second he started boarding and passed out cold for the entire ride. Unfortunately, this time, in his rush to pack and get to the airport to make his flight which by the grace of God had a seat left on it, he forgot his bottle of sleeping pills. So, in order to not hyperventilate mid-air when he realized that he couldn’t see where they were going, he took a page out of Grantaire’s book and he drank. Every time those stewardess ladies came by with the drink cart he ordered vodka. Or whiskey. Or cranberry juice. But that was just because Jehan fucking loved cranberry juice. Long story short, Jehan got drunk. And by the time he climbed into a cab and muttered the first address he could think of, hugging his luggage to his chest, he was the most drunk he had been in a really long time.

“You okay, kid?” the cab driver asked about ten minutes into the drive, after listening to Jehan mumble things to himself the entire time. It was mostly reassurances and snippets of poetry, nothing that the guy would be worried about, but still. It was a little unsettling.

“Peachy, sir. I’m just a little intoxicated.” Jehan slurred, leaning forward and resting his head against the passenger seat headrest.

“Well, in my past, I’ve noticed people tend to get a little intoxicated when their worried about something.” Jehan hummed noncommittally, “Anything I can help with?”

“I’ve found my soulmate.” Jehan said, yawning mid-sentence. Jehan had always been a sleepy drunk, sleepy and tactile, hence the reason he had his arms and legs nestled around his duffle bag, fighting sleep.

“Is that a bad thing?” the man asked skeptically.

“No… yes? It used to be. It isn’t anymore. Oh and I also don’t like flying.”

“So, it was the flying that got you drunk.” Jehan nodded and tapped his finger against his nose which made him think of Courfeyrac and giggle. “Well, that I can’t help you with,” he said as he pulled up to the apartment complex Jehan had told him to drive to, “But, I can tell you the soulmate thing is nothing to worry about. You like ‘em?” Jehan nodded a little too fast, making his head sway a little, “Then I’m sure you’ll be fine. Here,” he showed Jehan his hand, where the words _Smoking kills, you know_ was scrawled on the side of his hand, at the end of his radius, “Me and her have been together eighteen years. Overcome a lot of shit. I know it’s not always perfect, but this soulmate thing has a way of working itself out.” He assured with a smile. Jehan grinned lazily back and tugged out his wallet, shoving the money at the man and mumbling his thanks before stumbling out of the cab. He blew a kiss to the driver who laughed before waving and driving away.

“Here goes nothing.” Jehan murmured before starting up the stairs. He came to Courfeyrac’s door and stared at the handle for a moment before trying it and finding it very locked. Jehan frowned down at it and whined a little before resting his forehead against the doorframe.

“You’re supposed to be open. Why are you getting in the way of me and love?” Jehan whispered angrily at the doorknob, or as angry as he could manage in his loopy state. He stood up straight and resolutely made the decision to pick the lock. He looked around him for something to help. His eyes settled on a wall lamp. Jehan, decisions impeded by drunkenness, stumbled the two steps over and decided he was going to peel the iron molding off of the lamp and use that to pick the lock. He put his hand on the flat top of it and gasped.

“A key.” Jehan said to no one, startled, “This is good to pick the lock.” He mumbled before moving back to the door, sticking the key in and giving a little sound of joy when it swung open easily.

###

“He’s been an unmitigated asshole, lately. I don’t know what has gotten into him.” Enjolras complained, moving around the kitchen, slamming cabinets and clanking dishes as Grantaire sat at the table and watched his boyfriend huff up a storm fondly.

“Yes you do, Apollo. It’s pretty obvious.” Enjolras sighed, sounding slightly more defeated than angry.

“Jehan. Yes, I know but-” Right as he said they both heard the front door swing open and a small cheer follow that, “Marius?” Enjolras called out, turning the corner to see who it was. Grantaire gaped when he saw who it was.

“Jehan?” Grantaire asked, hopping off the bar stools and walking towards the obviously drunk poet.

“Grantaire! Enjolras!” he slurred, opening his arms wide and tossing down his duffle bag, “What are you two doing here?” he asked as he tackled them both in a bear hug. Grantaire laughed as Enjolras looked down at the red head with confusion.

“Um, I live here?” Enjolras asked, speaking slightly into Jehan’s hair.

“What are you doing here, Jehan? Weren’t you supposed to fly back with Joly and Bossuet?” Grantaire asked. Jehan just pulled away and smiled at them, his eyes glazed over a little. He reached down and took one of Enjolras’ and Grantaire’s hands and then pushed them together, lacing the two of theirs’ fingers together and then nodding definitively.

“Is Courfeyrac here?” he asked loudly, moving past them quicker than Grantaire would think him capable at the moment, towards the hall leading to the bedrooms. He opened each door, looking inside

“Ughhh… no.” Enjolras said incredulously, watching Jehan invade his home with wide eyes. Grantaire bit his lip to not laugh at his boyfriend’s expression. If it had been anyone else, Grantaire knew Enjolras would be yelling. But even Enjolras was rendered docile when it came to Jehan. No one could yell at that face, the freckles and the big eyes.

“Oh.” Jehan said softly once he had gotten to the last room on the left, “This is it, isn’t it?” he asked, sounding sad. Grantaire knew why, too. Courfeyrac’s room had always confused him. In Grantaire’s mind, someone’s room was their personal space, their one room that always ended up being unequivocally you, whether you tried to do it or not. For example, Enjolras’ room had a giant desk in the corner, the only spot in the room that was ever in order, right next to the window; his bed spread was a black and his walls a dramatic scarlet red. Marius’ room was always a giant jumble of dirty clothes and textbooks and clean clothes, as he’d put all of his prized dictionaries for the languages he did know and the languages he wanted to know in his dresser, leaving no spot for his clothes but the floor. Jehan’s wall across from his bed was littered with tacked up pieces of poetry and inspiring words and Grantaire had spent a week perfecting the swirls of flowers in an array of colors that decorated the ceiling and wall behind his bed. Combeferre’s walls were lined with bookshelves, holding a book on literally everything. Even Eponine, who spent barely any time in her room, had hung up a bunch of pictures of her and her friends, her and Combeferre, her and her little siblings. Grantaire himself has made sure he got a bedspread that was deep green and the room was littered with wine bottles and paint splatter and ticket stubs from concerts and airplanes tickets and movies he had liked. Courfeyrac’s wasn’t like that. He had a bed, a dresser, a nightstand, and that was pretty much it. There were a couple textbooks at the foot of his bed, but other than that you would barely even be able to tell Courf lived there.     

Grantaire has expected bursts of colors and collages of photos splayed across the wall. He expected a little bit of a mess and tons of books and probably toys or some shit. Because that sounded like Courfeyrac. He was loud and happy and the glue that held their group together. It sort of worried Grantaire that Courf really didn’t have a place to call his own. He had always meant to ask about it, but he never wanted to seem too invasive or whatever.

“He’s not here.” Enjolras said again, as Jehan moved into the room slowly. He moved to the queen bed in the middle of the room and quietly curled up underneath the pale blue comforter.

“I’m just going to take a nap.” He muttered quietly before closing his eyes and drifting off to sleep. Enjolras made a move to go and wake him up, but Grantaire held his hand a little tighter.

“He sleeps like the dead when he’s drunk. We should just leave him.”

“In my best friend’s bed?” Enjolras asked incredulously. Grantaire just shrugged and nodded.

“He finally looks peaceful.”

###

Courfeyrac opened the door loudly and closed it with a bang, trying to make as much noise as he could so that he wouldn’t catch Enjolras and Grantaire in a compromising situation (it only happened one time before but never fucking again).

“I’m back. Please don’t yell at me- why are you standing outside my room?” Courfeyrac asked as he dropped his messenger bag on the couch and walked towards his friends who were leaning on his doorframe and staring into his room with small smiles. Grantaire looked over at him and put his fingers to his lips and beckoned him over. Courfeyrac walked over slowly, suspecting that whatever had happened, Marius was somehow involved.

“What- oh.” He felt his jaw drop open when he followed his friends’ eyes to the red head tucked into his bed seemingly in a deep sleep, “What the fuck.” He mumbled, running a hand through his hair as he tried to settle himself.

“Jehan is back!” Grantaire whispered. Courfeyrac couldn’t look at him. He was still looking at Jehan, trying to remember if he woke up this morning. He wanted to be happy. He was happy. He was really happy. He was just also really scared. Because what the fuck was he supposed to do? Did he act like a boyfriend? An acquaintance? A friend? What did he do?

“Good God.” Courfeyrac muttered after a long moment, “I need to shower. Um, I really need to shower. Do I have time? R, do you think I have time?” Grantaire nodded and tugged on Enjolras’ hand.

“Yes, Courf. You shower. We’re going to go.” Courfeyrac mumbled his assent, too distracted to do anything else or respond to Enjolras’ noise of indignation or to make a joke about Grantaire offering to let Enjolras stay the night at his place. He just walked into his room, staring at Jehan the whole time as he grabbed sweats and a t-shirt and moved slowly to the bathroom, being careful not to make a noise.

Once in the bathroom he stared at his reflection for a long moment as he ran the water, waiting for it to get hot. He tried to take deep breaths, tried to calm his racing nerves. It wasn’t easy. It wasn’t easy because his soulmate was in his bed and he had a sinking feeling that if he fucked this up he would lose him forever. He didn’t want to lose him forever. He wanted to love him forever. Similar words, vastly different things. Courfeyrac took his time in the shower, letting the hot water rush over him, wishing it would wash his anxiety away.

“This shouldn’t be so fucking _hard_.” Courfeyrac whined as he forced himself to stop wallowing. Ideally, Courfeyrac would walk out there and Jehan would be suddenly awake and in love with him and they would just pretend like these past horrible weeks never happened. They could move past it without uncomfortable conversations or changes or anything like that. It could just be easy, like it had been for Joly and Bossuet. But that would involve them living in a world where good things happen to him. And unfortunately, that wasn’t where Courfeyrac lived. Most likely, what would happen would be… Courfeyrac didn’t know. Because, logically, Jehan didn’t come to his apartment just to run out on him again. And if he was going to tell him he decided that it was never going to work, he doubts Jehan would have fallen asleep in what was undoubtedly his bed. So, what was Courf afraid of?

“You’re here.” Jehan slurred, voice tinged with sleep and something else… excitement? Alcohol? Both? Courfeyrac stopped in his tracks, still holding a towel up to shake out his wet hair.

“ _You’re_ here.” He managed to say back, surprised that his voice didn’t waver. Jehan just nodded slowly before groaning and putting his hands over his face.

“I think I might have gotten drunk.” Jehan whined. Courfeyrac, surprisingly barked out a laugh at that.

“Do you want some water? Aspirin?”

“Yes please.” Jehan said sweetly, grabbing one of Courfeyrac’s pillows and tucking it under his chin. He started to walk out of the room but then stopped at the door and turned around.

“I already feel way better. Is that weird?” Jehan just grinned at him.

“Probably. But I know what you mean.”

###

Courfeyrac was there. He was there. He was there and Jehan wanted to squeal with excitement/nervousness because he was being so sweet and getting him aspirin and smiling at him and he was all damp from the shower and adorable and ugh Jehan would be squealing right now if it wouldn’t make his head pound worse. Jehan brought his legs up, still incased in the fluffy comforter, and tucked his head on his knees as he waited for Courfeyrac to come back and mentally played a monologue in his head of what he would say, how he would apologize, beg for forgiveness and acceptance. He knew he should probably be nervous and he had been, on the plane ride over. But sitting it Courfeyrac’s bed, reeling from the grin he had flashed at him, he knew everything was going to be okay.

“Here you go.” Courfeyrac said, offering the glass and aspirin to Jehan who proceeded to down them both quickly. He hummed, satisfied, and then looked up to smile at his soulmate. He opened his mouth to start his speech, the one he had spent hours planning out in his head, but looking at Courf’s smiling eyes and just general fucking perfection, Jehan couldn’t. So instead he just threw his arms around the boy, burying him in a giant hug. It was a little awkward, with the blanket still wrapped around Jehan’s lower half, but that didn’t stop them. Courfeyrac laughed softly and tugged him forwards until he was practically sitting in the taller man’s lap, nuzzling his head against his neck.

“You smell good.” Jehan whispered, lips moving against Courfeyrac’s skin. He had the strongest urge to press his lips there, to move his mouth down just a little so he could trace the letters he knew were there with his tongue, be one hundred percent sure Courfeyrac was here and he was his.

“Thank you,” Courfeyrac laughed, bringing up a hand to touch Jehan’s hair, “I really like your hair.”

“Hmm, thank you.” Jehan whispered, trying to move more against Courfeyrac, “I missed you.” He said almost imperceptibly, but he knew Courf heard when his arms tightened around him and he sighed into Jehan’s hair.

“I missed you too, so much.” He said sincerely. Jehan whimpered as he clung to Courfeyrac.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” Jehan asked. He tried not to sound scared, but he knew he probably did either way. Courfeyrac shook his head and laughed lightly and pushed Jehan back a little, so that he could look him in the eye when he spoke.

“I was never mad, love. I was sad a lot, I’m not going to lie. I was lonely and maybe a little guilty, but never angry, Jehan. I couldn’t never be angry at you for doing what you believe is best for _you_. I actually respect that a lot. I’ve never been very good at taking care of myself.” He said the last part quieter, as if divulging a secret. It made Jehan’s heart ache a little.

“Good God, neither am I. We’ll just have to help each other?” Jehan said. He didn’t mean it to be a question, but he also didn’t want to be too presumptuous. Courfeyrac just smiled widely and nodded.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked after a long moment, almost making Jehan swoon before kissing him himself, pressing his lips softly to Courfeyrac’s and reveling in the closeness he had craved for as long as he could remember.

“I’d also like to take you out on a date.” Courfeyrac managed to say, each word between kisses as Jehan wouldn’t slow down for something as trivial as talking. Jehan just hummed an affirmative against his lips and nodded slightly.

“How do you feel about-”

“Oh my God, Courf, stop talking.” Jehan whispered, pushing Courfeyrac back against the pillows and sealing their mouths together firmly to shut him up.

A couple hours later, laying out in bed together (still fully clothed; he wasn’t a hussy), Courfeyrac brought it up again, sounding endearingly tentative.

“There’s a Humphrey Bogart marathon at the theater downtown tomorrow.” He said, attempting nonchalance. Jehan looked up at him with a teasing smile.

“Okay?” Courfeyrac sighed and laid his head back.

“Would you like to go with me?” he asked, sounding exasperated but that was given away by his grin. Jehan hummed noncommittally.

“I don’t know. I’m not really a movie person. I prefer books.” Jehan admitted, not at all expecting Courfeyrac’s indignant gasp. Jehan raised an eyebrow at Courf who stared back accusingly.

“I am dating a philistine.”

“A philistine?! I resent that adamantly.”

“You don’t like movies?”

“Is that a bad thing? Ever heard of free will?” Courfeyrac just shook his head and moved to the side, shifting their positions so that he was sitting crisscross directly in front of Jehan.

“Let me tell you a story. Usually I wouldn’t tell such a personal story to someone I barely know, but you’re my soulmate and I just like you, so you can know. Can I tell you a story?”

“I guess. I like your stories.” Jehan said dismissively. He wasn’t lying though, Courfeyrac was a really good story teller. His sincere interest and passion is intoxicating and impossible to ignore.

“Okay, so I know my parents. My parents are pretty great, if they are a little too… business-minded for my taste. They raised me alright and they tried to be around, I guess, but they were busy and I was young and taking care of me wasn’t really their first priority. So, I was practically raised by my grandparents. I have a lot of memories of them. A shit-load of memories, actually, I’ll tell you them all one day. But one in particular is my favorite. When I was like… four and on my grandma used to keep me up late showing me old movies that she could find on cable and while this meant that, yeah, I was a sleep deprived little kid, but I also was shown the world.

“I grew up pretty sheltered. I mean, I had a rebellious phase like everyone else, but I never really experienced that much. Everything I learned was shown to me through movies. I learned so much from these characters that I watched develop before my eyes. I loved it and my favorite part of the day until I was eleven was staying up and watching a new movie, a new adventure. Then, at eleven, my grandma had a massive stroke. I was only in the sixth grade, but I remember visiting her in the hospital and she was so … scared, Jehan. She was terrified because she couldn’t recognize anyone around her, she couldn’t remember anything. Memories are precious and scarce and cherishable, but when she got home, I sat her down one night and I showed her a movie. And she was able to smile and laugh and enjoy herself for the first time in weeks because watching a movie, you don’t need memories. They make them for you. You get to watch these characters develop and grow and you empathize with them and you live these adventures through them, love stories and battles and victories and it’s amazing, Jehan. It’s perfect and inspiring and it is the ultimate way to tell a story and I love it.

“And that is the end of my rant. I apologize for forcing you to listen to that.” Courfeyrac said, blushing slightly. Jehan shook his head and kissed Courfeyrac’s forehead once because he couldn’t take all that cute and not kiss him.

“I loved it. I love listening to you talk. And yes. I would love to go to the movies with you. I mean, I’m going to make you go to like thousands of poetry readings, so it’s only fair.”

“I’m looking forward to that.”

###

Joly, Bossuet, and Musichetta stayed in Greece about a week and a half after Jehan left. They had some things they had to work out with Musichetta and her apartment and you know, the life she was leaving behind. She only really had her mom and dad, who were definitely okay with her leaving with her soulmates. Apparently the two of them had met when they were eleven and grew up together, so they always felt a little bad that Musichetta had to wait so long. So after they cancelled her lease and packed up her stuff, they all boarded a plane to finally fly home.

“Don’t be nervous, Joly.” Musichetta whispered as the stewardesses gave their spiel about what to do in a crisis.

“Shhhhh!” Joly waved his arms dramatically at her, focusing one hundred percent on the motions of the women, mouthing the words after they said them, as if committing it to memory. Bossuet laughed and grabbed ‘Chetta’s hand.

“He’s more paranoid than I am, even if he has less reason to be.” He said with a chuckle. She smiled and leaned her head on his shoulder, wishing she had grabbed a book or some sleeping pills out of her bag before she shoved it in the overhead compartment.

“Don’t worry, ‘Chetta,” Joly assured when he looked over at her laying her head on Bossuet’s shoulder, “If anything happens I am now completely equipped to handle it.”

“That’s marvelous, love, but nothing is going to happen, I promise.” Musichetta said fondly. Joly just shook his head and then proceeded to rattle off a probably falsified statistic about the danger of airplanes and the number of deaths they cause. It wasn’t until they were about six hours into the miserable flight that Bossuet turned to her with a small smile.

“You’re not nervous, are you?” he whispered, since Joly was sleeping.

“Maybe a little.” Musichetta admitted, running her finger over the creases on Bossuet’s palm, “I’ve never been to America before. And I really want your friends to like me.” She said quietly. Bossuet laughed softly and kissed her temple sweetly.

“You’re ridiculous. There’s no way they won’t love you. And Eponine is going to be thrilled that there’s another girl in our group, you have no idea.” Musichetta smiled, charmed completely by his unfailing sincerity. She rested her head again on his shoulder.

“I’m gonna go to sleep now.” She said, her words punctuated by a yawn.

“Nooo, please don’t! I can never fall asleep on planes. I’ll have no one to talk to if you sleep too!” he protested, but Musichetta was already drifting off. She just patted his chest softly and kissed his shoulder once.

“Just my luck,” Musichetta barely heard Bossuet mutter as she fell asleep.

She woke up a good while later, pulled out of sleep by Joly and Bossuet laughing. They did that a lot; it was painfully adorable.

“How much longer?” she whined, wishing she could stretch out her legs.

“About two hours? Give or take?” Bossuet answered. Musichetta groaned and dropped her head against the headrest in front of her.

“Kill me.” She whined. Joly patted her back reassuringly.

“No ma’am. Not today.”

“Well then, what were we laughing about?” she asked, rubbing her eyes as she reluctantly realized there was no way she was falling back asleep. She was expecting an excruciatingly long flight, punctuated by an influx of alcohol, but with her boys the time flew by. They adamantly entertained her with stories of their adventures together, with their friends (her favorite was the one about Grantaire and Bossuet getting helplessly lost in Disneyland and then falling asleep in New Orleans Square) and she told them stories about her times working on a fishing boat for two years. The conversation flowed easily and Musichetta felt incredibly at ease.

It was remarkable how easily the three of them blended together. Musichetta could tell how close Joly and Bossuet were from the first time she set eyes on them, walking hand and hand into the café that week and a half earlier, but she would never have imagined that she would fall so easily into their rhythm. She had always had a lot of friends, a lot of acquaintances, but she had never found anyone who she was really close to, no one who would pick to be with her above anyone else. Even her boyfriends in high school, before the tattoo, always had someone, a best friend or sibling, that they liked better. She was never anyone’s first choice. With these two, she felt like she was. She was finally an irreplaceable part of a group and she’d only been with them for one a half weeks.

And she knew it was silly, fearing it was a temporary thing. That was why she was a little nervous to land, to meet all of their friends. They were driving first thing to Joly and Bossuet’s apartment, to put their stuff down, but right after that they were headed to the Café Musain, to see all ten of what the two of them had described as their best friends in the whole fucking world. ( _Who has TEN best friends?_ )  

“I’m so excited for you to meet everyone!” Joly said happily as he practically skipped down the street towards the Musain. Luckily his joy was infectious and Musichetta found herself smiling with him, despite her growing exhaustion and nervousness coupled with jetlag.

“BOSSUET!” Musichetta suddenly heard a voice yell from behind them. She turned around to see a dark-haired boy running towards them at full speed and then heard her boyfriend’s answering yell.

“GRANTAIRE!” he shouted as he broke out into a run as well. They met halfway and Bossuet picked up the boy in a quite impressive version of the lift from Dirty Dancing before they embraced, Grantaire wrapping his legs around Bossuet’s waist. Musichetta was impressed they pulled it off. Because, well, Bossuet wasn’t small by any means and he was definitely physically fit (Musichetta may or may not have spent a considerable amount of time getting personally acquainted with the ripples of his well-toned muscle… she did, she totally did), but the fact that Grantaire was pretty tall and fit himself, with long legs and thick arms, coupled with Bossuet’s shit coordination, they should have a heap on the ground by now.

“Does Bossuet have a third soulmate?” Musichetta asked Joly playfully.

“No. That’s just him and R.”

“Oh, yeah. I remember you telling me about him.” Musichetta watched the two of them walk up, followed by a rather stunning blonde. “Fuck, then that must be Enjolras?” Joly smiled at her knowingly and nodded. The three of them walked up and introductions transpired, during which Grantaire insisted he had thousands of stories he needed to tell her and Enjolras shook her hand and she _so_ did not gape or stumble over her words when he smiled at her. No siree, she only had eyes for her boyfriends (okay that’s a lie, but he was _gorgeous_ , good God). As they continued walking, R proceeded to tell her a story about him and Bossuet getting kicked out of a Target for dancing with some little kids, the whole time with his arm slung over her shoulder fondly. By the time the story had finished and Musichetta almost had tears in her eyes from laughter, they were walking into the café/bar.

“Combeferre!” Enjolras said loudly, the second they walked through the front doors. The blonde moved to the bar quickly, up to a tall guy who had his arms wrapped around a tiny brunette.

“Hey! You guys are back!” Combeferre said fondly. The girl looked up at them with a grin, meeting ‘Chetta’s eyes immediately. Her eyes widened a little as she took a drink of her beer.

“Oh! You must be Musichetta!” she said happily, “I’m Eponine! I am so happy you’re here!” Eponine smiled widely and pulled her in for a hug.

“I’m happy to be here!”

“Oh my god, you guys,” Eponine said, addressing Bossuet and Joly, “She is _way_ out of your league.” The girl teased as she looked Musichetta up-and-down once. ‘Chetta laughed and pushed Eponine lightly on the shoulder.

“Hey,” Bossuet protested, “I am a very attractive black man.” He said slowly, to which Grantaire made a noise of agreement.

“Yeah, he’s at least a 7 out of 10.”

“What about me?” Joly whined, tugging on Bossuet’s sleeve a little.

“Aw, honey, you’re 10 out of 10, easy.” Bossuet said with a smile and a kiss to Joly’s cheek. Everyone collectively groaned as Musichetta cooed. Eponine then grabbed her hand and dragged her to the back room where apparently they always hung out. Everyone was there when they walked in and Eponine immediately took her to sit next to the only other girl in the room, a pretty blonde named Cosette who promised to take her to her beach house as soon as they could, once ‘Chetta had explained that if she was land-locked she might go insane.

All Joly and Bossuet’s friends were great, actually, once she got past the initial shock of just how many people there were. It was amazing how such a big group of people managed such a beautiful dynamic. They all seemed so _close_ and everyone was friends. There was no stigma or rivalries and she was filled with a beautifully light and blissful feeling, knowing that she was a part of it.

Oh, and Musichetta had almost _cheered_ when she saw Jehan sitting with his Courfeyrac. They were holding hands and Jehan was resting his head on Courfeyrac’s shoulder and the boy just looked so preciously _happy_ that she wanted to clap her hands.

“So is anyone else going to comment on how ridiculously convenient this all is?” Grantaire asked loudly a few hours later, as they were sitting around in a big circle, drawing everyone’s attention to him.

“What do you mean, R?” Enjolras asked, feigning patience.

“This soulmate thing! This is fucking crazy! We’re at a 100% success rate!” Grantaire yelled, sounding exasperated as everyone around them laughed and looked at their respective soulmate. ‘Chetta and Bossuet both put an arm affectionately around Joly, resting their arms on top of each other’s as well; Bahorel nudged his knee a little too hard against Feuilly’s and then left them resting together; Courfeyrac kissed Jehan sweetly on the cheek and then rested his chin on top of his head; Eponine tightened her arms around Combeferre’s waist and burrowed her face a little more into his neck from her seat on his lap; Marius looked down at Cosette with smiling eyes right as she looked up at him with equally bright ones, both tangling their fingers together on their laps.

“Stop being so goddamn _cynical_ , R.” Enjolras whispered fondly before kissing him softly on the lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG IT IS FINISHED!!!! (this fic took me way longer than i thought it would :D )
> 
> thank you so much for reading !!!!! i hope you liked it !!
> 
> feedback is always much appreciated :D :D


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